This is old (circa 2006), but I still thought it hilarious.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Hypocrisies of the Day
- For all the moaning and crying I did about how I never felt my mother accepted me for who I was, I certainly do my share of not accepting her for who she is, either.
- I tell everyone I'm from New York City, but I'm really from backwater Florida - I just lived in New York for 8 years. I call New York City my home town because it's the only place that ever really felt like it. But it's not. Not really.
- I tell people I'm a writer but I'm not - I'm an English teacher who has never published anything creative.
- I've complained about high maintenance women my whole life but recently realized I've had 3 professional massages this year.
- After 2 months of doing my best to eat organic and preaching the evils of enriched wheat, I'm back to eating as much junk as I ever did before. Somewhat like my year-long stint of boycotting all animal-tested products. "Blah blah blah" - that's the sound my self-righteous gibberish.
That'll do for now. Really. That'll do.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Dealbreakers
I was having a conversation with some friends about stinky feet in a movie theatre and the subject shifted to things that a person would do/be in order for us to not call them back after the first date... or break up with them if we were together. So i started contemplating my own list of "dealbreakers." i didn't really need to have one for the past 15 years of serial monogamy, so i decided it was time to put it in concrete terms for my adventures in dating. Here's what I have so far (feel free to add to this--it should be a lively discussion):
Depression
Drug or alcohol addiction
For these two, it's a matter of being an equal partner in a relationship. It's really unfair for one person to be the Rock all of the time. Love and emotional support should balance out.
Treats people like shit, a.k.a. asshole
Openly violent and adamantly racist, sexist, anti-gay statements
These things are ugly. I was talking to a guy recently about making dinner plans. Went something like this--
K: Where do you want to go for dinner? I know of a really good place for cheap.
Guy: Why don't we just meet at my house and you can cook for me? I'm hungry.
Ugly grill: to the point of tooth decay, gum disease and halitosis
Shorter than me
Yes, yes, call me a superficial bitch, but I think these things are important for intimacy. (e.g. kissing while standing) I'm not that tall to begin with, so it would be some feat to be shorter than me.
If he tries to tell me who i can see/talk to/hang out with
It's such a turn off for my partner to tell me what to do or how to live my life, especially if he says he doesn't want me to hang out with certain friends. If you don't trust me, stay away. If you're controlling, stay away.
If he hates my family.
It's somewhat bearable if my family thinks he's only so-so, but if he adamantly hates any member of my family for it he needs to go. It goes back to treating people with dignity and respect.
Bedroom incompatibility
Goes without saying.
That's all I have so far. I'd love to hear your stories!
Depression
Drug or alcohol addiction
For these two, it's a matter of being an equal partner in a relationship. It's really unfair for one person to be the Rock all of the time. Love and emotional support should balance out.
Treats people like shit, a.k.a. asshole
Openly violent and adamantly racist, sexist, anti-gay statements
These things are ugly. I was talking to a guy recently about making dinner plans. Went something like this--
K: Where do you want to go for dinner? I know of a really good place for cheap.
Guy: Why don't we just meet at my house and you can cook for me? I'm hungry.
Ugly grill: to the point of tooth decay, gum disease and halitosis
Shorter than me
Yes, yes, call me a superficial bitch, but I think these things are important for intimacy. (e.g. kissing while standing) I'm not that tall to begin with, so it would be some feat to be shorter than me.
If he tries to tell me who i can see/talk to/hang out with
It's such a turn off for my partner to tell me what to do or how to live my life, especially if he says he doesn't want me to hang out with certain friends. If you don't trust me, stay away. If you're controlling, stay away.
If he hates my family.
It's somewhat bearable if my family thinks he's only so-so, but if he adamantly hates any member of my family for it he needs to go. It goes back to treating people with dignity and respect.
Bedroom incompatibility
Goes without saying.
That's all I have so far. I'd love to hear your stories!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Decade - a Post Named After My Favorite Duran Duran Album Which I Was Listening to Compulsively 10 Years Ago
10 years ago today, February 6th, 1998, I was waiting frantically by the computer, hoping AbwehrKanone66 would come online. It was his birthday - I wanted to wish him a happy one and see if he'd gotten the birthday card and stuffed manatee I'd sent him. AbwehrKanone66 was, for all intensive purposes, my first love - really an infatuation but at 18 and in the throes of infatuation's passionate grip for the first time ever, I didn't know the difference. We were meant to be.
AbwehrKanone66 appeared. He had gotten my gift and was thrilled. I never thought I could be so happy - I was basking in the glow of what I felt was a mutual, loving attraction. When things went terribly wrong shortly thereafter, I was gutted, devastated, took to wearing black from head to toe and lost 25 pounds in a matter of weeks. I started college weighed down by a pall of heartbroken misery and constantly thought back to the few short months when things had seemed beautiful. I thought, too, about the stupid manatee - a complete waste of caring sentiment on such a lying, cheating manchild.
With time, things improved, as they always do. I slowly began to date - first, a college sweetheart and, after our breakup, strings of pompous, drunken New York City nimrods. I suffered through another lethal unrequited infatuation at the age of 23 and once rid of that, like a mangy dog shaking off its aggressive fleas, I tried my hand at dating again only to be annoyed by more New York City idiots. At 26, I swore off romance for good. I was, after all, heterosexual poison. My history had shown me no other possibility.
One and a half years after that declaration, and 10 years to the day after I waited, pining by the computer, for the ultimately poisonous and deceitful AbwehrKanone66 to flash onto my screen, my boyfriend and I gave a real estate agent our "okay" for an apartment we would like to move into. It is more than twice the size of the ones we live in now, half the price, and in a location mere steps away from the train station. Best of all, we get to be together all the time.
We're crazy about each other. My parents will each surely give birth to identical white mewling kittens when they discover my plans but after much thought, moving in with my long, lean Irish beau only seems natural.
This, I could never have imagined.
AbwehrKanone66 appeared. He had gotten my gift and was thrilled. I never thought I could be so happy - I was basking in the glow of what I felt was a mutual, loving attraction. When things went terribly wrong shortly thereafter, I was gutted, devastated, took to wearing black from head to toe and lost 25 pounds in a matter of weeks. I started college weighed down by a pall of heartbroken misery and constantly thought back to the few short months when things had seemed beautiful. I thought, too, about the stupid manatee - a complete waste of caring sentiment on such a lying, cheating manchild.
With time, things improved, as they always do. I slowly began to date - first, a college sweetheart and, after our breakup, strings of pompous, drunken New York City nimrods. I suffered through another lethal unrequited infatuation at the age of 23 and once rid of that, like a mangy dog shaking off its aggressive fleas, I tried my hand at dating again only to be annoyed by more New York City idiots. At 26, I swore off romance for good. I was, after all, heterosexual poison. My history had shown me no other possibility.
One and a half years after that declaration, and 10 years to the day after I waited, pining by the computer, for the ultimately poisonous and deceitful AbwehrKanone66 to flash onto my screen, my boyfriend and I gave a real estate agent our "okay" for an apartment we would like to move into. It is more than twice the size of the ones we live in now, half the price, and in a location mere steps away from the train station. Best of all, we get to be together all the time.
We're crazy about each other. My parents will each surely give birth to identical white mewling kittens when they discover my plans but after much thought, moving in with my long, lean Irish beau only seems natural.
This, I could never have imagined.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Are you a pink, or a blue state?
Sheer stimulation encircles my brain, and a deep delight cradles my heart as I behold a female and African American vie for democratic presidency. We can finally see the fruits of the feminist and civil rights movements being plucked from such an overripe crop as Hillary and Obama reach for a previously Anglo-male prize.
Yet, over-zealous “hurrahs” do not draw me to my key pad. What intrigues me about the 2008 presidential race is that despite both aspirants representing marginalized groups, are the age old partialities of men vs. women still rooted deeply among voters? Is patriarchy still plaguing America’s collective consciousness and, I wonder, does gender bias exceed racial discrimination.
I don’t know.
If past instances are a precedent for today’s outcomes, then a person could conclude that Mississippi’s Hiram Revels, the first black male to be elected senator in 1870 and Arkansas’ Hattie Caraway, the first female, voted senator in 1932, shows that an African American male was revered as a more suitable candidate for politics before a female. Similarly, the 14th and 15th amendments gave black males the right to vote 50 years before women, showing that racial barriers are not made from the same materials as gender bias.
Still, what true feelings resonate in the hearts of American voters?
In Faye Fiore & Peter Nicholas’ recent LA Times article, The question that almost wasn't asked , a New Hampshire woman, Marianne Pernold Young, asked Hillary during a Q&A, "As a woman, I know it's hard to get out of the house and get ready. My question is very personal. How do you do it?" Hillary’s response was a misty eyed, “It's not easy, it's not easy,” which highlighted her softer side, and gave way to a response about her sincerity in wanting to shape a better America. Pernold Young sympathized with Clinton. Who wouldn’t, right?
In my private life I feel the constant pressure to appear put together and without normal human weakness. And, as a woman in the work force, I have had male bosses spout, “Women are too emotional…irrational,” and “I’ve never understood women.” Thus, I try to iron out the emotional creases in my public-self so that my male counterparts can shed the idea of me being overemotional and therefore, the weaker sex. And, when I try to show empathy, I’m often viewed as being motherly; when I show openness, I’m the over-sensitive girl. Conversely, if I stand my ground or delegate, I’m bitchy; when I remain resolute, I’m cold and unresponsive. Likewise, as soon as Clinton shed her vulnerable side and delved back into serious political issues, Pernold Yound was disenchanted and decided to vote for Obama.
Why the drastic turn?
After Clinton’s choked up response, Times writers posed the query: Had [Clinton] managed to appear human without appearing frail? Fiore and Nicholas unwittingly salted the issue of an ongoing female plight: Is it possible to resolve the Betty Crocker vs. crazy bitch dichotomy? To put it more mildly, can a woman resolve showing sensitivity, or vulnerability without appearing weak, and can she be firm without being labeled unhuman? Can a woman cohesively blend her stern and sensitive sides while still managing to escape being dubbed as either devoid of feeling, or a frail, overemotional train wreck?
A woman is multifaceted, but if she hints at vulnerability and sheds a tear or two, she’s judged as someone who fuels decisions and strategies with emotion and not rationalization. And when she shows objective, hardnosed strategy she is deemed impassive or as Simone points out amid her post, a bitch. These aspects upset me.
I am upset that the compartmentalization or polarizations of female facets leave womankind stranded on and Isle of suppressed potential. It upsets me that, especially in public, a woman has to appear put together and without flaw but at the same time be a non-threatening, sensitive, mother-like figure; ironically, when a woman tries to toggle back and forth between the two personas she alienates those around her who want Marry Poppins in combat boots, but can’t handle the reality of such a figure.
Listen, I’m not trying to box everyone in, or claim that the whole U.S. feels the way Pernold Young, or whoever else might feel. I’m merely exploring one of the hardships that women (in power) endure. And yes, I’m fully aware that racism rages on to this day. Maybe I’m wrong on all accounts of such bias…I hope so.
Also, my intentions were not to espouse my political agenda or rally for a certain candidate because, truthfully, I’m not sure who I’ll cast my vote for. For me, at the end of the day, it’s not woman vs. man. I follow right vs. wrong and besides, what kind of feminist would I be if I didn’t follow truth and righteous.
Yet, over-zealous “hurrahs” do not draw me to my key pad. What intrigues me about the 2008 presidential race is that despite both aspirants representing marginalized groups, are the age old partialities of men vs. women still rooted deeply among voters? Is patriarchy still plaguing America’s collective consciousness and, I wonder, does gender bias exceed racial discrimination.
I don’t know.
If past instances are a precedent for today’s outcomes, then a person could conclude that Mississippi’s Hiram Revels, the first black male to be elected senator in 1870 and Arkansas’ Hattie Caraway, the first female, voted senator in 1932, shows that an African American male was revered as a more suitable candidate for politics before a female. Similarly, the 14th and 15th amendments gave black males the right to vote 50 years before women, showing that racial barriers are not made from the same materials as gender bias.
Still, what true feelings resonate in the hearts of American voters?
In Faye Fiore & Peter Nicholas’ recent LA Times article, The question that almost wasn't asked , a New Hampshire woman, Marianne Pernold Young, asked Hillary during a Q&A, "As a woman, I know it's hard to get out of the house and get ready. My question is very personal. How do you do it?" Hillary’s response was a misty eyed, “It's not easy, it's not easy,” which highlighted her softer side, and gave way to a response about her sincerity in wanting to shape a better America. Pernold Young sympathized with Clinton. Who wouldn’t, right?
In my private life I feel the constant pressure to appear put together and without normal human weakness. And, as a woman in the work force, I have had male bosses spout, “Women are too emotional…irrational,” and “I’ve never understood women.” Thus, I try to iron out the emotional creases in my public-self so that my male counterparts can shed the idea of me being overemotional and therefore, the weaker sex. And, when I try to show empathy, I’m often viewed as being motherly; when I show openness, I’m the over-sensitive girl. Conversely, if I stand my ground or delegate, I’m bitchy; when I remain resolute, I’m cold and unresponsive. Likewise, as soon as Clinton shed her vulnerable side and delved back into serious political issues, Pernold Yound was disenchanted and decided to vote for Obama.
Why the drastic turn?
After Clinton’s choked up response, Times writers posed the query: Had [Clinton] managed to appear human without appearing frail? Fiore and Nicholas unwittingly salted the issue of an ongoing female plight: Is it possible to resolve the Betty Crocker vs. crazy bitch dichotomy? To put it more mildly, can a woman resolve showing sensitivity, or vulnerability without appearing weak, and can she be firm without being labeled unhuman? Can a woman cohesively blend her stern and sensitive sides while still managing to escape being dubbed as either devoid of feeling, or a frail, overemotional train wreck?
A woman is multifaceted, but if she hints at vulnerability and sheds a tear or two, she’s judged as someone who fuels decisions and strategies with emotion and not rationalization. And when she shows objective, hardnosed strategy she is deemed impassive or as Simone points out amid her post, a bitch. These aspects upset me.
I am upset that the compartmentalization or polarizations of female facets leave womankind stranded on and Isle of suppressed potential. It upsets me that, especially in public, a woman has to appear put together and without flaw but at the same time be a non-threatening, sensitive, mother-like figure; ironically, when a woman tries to toggle back and forth between the two personas she alienates those around her who want Marry Poppins in combat boots, but can’t handle the reality of such a figure.
Listen, I’m not trying to box everyone in, or claim that the whole U.S. feels the way Pernold Young, or whoever else might feel. I’m merely exploring one of the hardships that women (in power) endure. And yes, I’m fully aware that racism rages on to this day. Maybe I’m wrong on all accounts of such bias…I hope so.
Also, my intentions were not to espouse my political agenda or rally for a certain candidate because, truthfully, I’m not sure who I’ll cast my vote for. For me, at the end of the day, it’s not woman vs. man. I follow right vs. wrong and besides, what kind of feminist would I be if I didn’t follow truth and righteous.
"stop bein' a bitch and come on!"
i am in the process of recording some voices for a short animated piece. as the only woman involved in this process, i was the only one who was dismayed to read the word "bitch" in the script, in reference to a woman. (there's also an exchange involving the phrase "don't rape me!" which i absolutely refuse to say...but that's a whoooooole 'nother story...)
with a number of other colorful expletives at our disposal in this day and age, why is it that 'bitch' is always the default insult hurled at women?
when i meditate upon my own usage of the term, i realize i use it for two distinct purposes:
1) in a self-deprecating manner, when referring to behavior i am not proud of, e.g., "god, i am being such a bitch right now!"
2) when describing a man who is displaying behavior i believe to be unacceptable. please refer to exhibit a, the title of this post, which is a direct quote from the 90's film friday.
i feel no qualms about using 'bitch' to refer to myself or men i dislike, but i am careful not to use it in reference to other women, even those who i may dislike with a fervent passion. in my mind, doing so would be out of line with my feminist ideals. bitch, like slut, is a word that i try to avoid using, period...well, except when it is used to describe a man or men, in which case i use it with reckless abandon! (what a sexist hypocrite i am!)
all of this makes me think about 'bitch' is defined in our culture. to me, it seems that bitchy women are usually conceived of as those who either a) possess too many 'manly' characteristics (assertive, bold, tough), or b) are just evil and conniving in ways that only women can be (epitome of the mean-ass woman from hell). with this in mind, my conception of the male bitch turns the former definition on its head. a bitchy man is weak and lacks figurative balls - characteristics generally attributed to women, but in my definition only describes a particular breed of jackass man. in plain and simple terms, he's a weenie and a wimp.
this whole thing feels somehow connected to the way in which i delight in using male-derived phrases like "don't break my balls" or happily commenting that badass girls with moxie "have cohones." it's too bad i don't derive the same pleasure from reciting sassy phrases referring to my own, true female anatomy...why is that? maybe one day, i'll be confident and bold enough to say things like, "i got tits" and have it not be a sexual thing...but will there ever be a day when women's bodies will become less hypersexualized? sigh. not likely, in my book.
in the end, i managed to have 'bitch' removed from the scene in question. it was replaced with a snide, sneering 'sweetheart'...such a small victory, but a feather in my cap nonetheless!
* special thanks to taberlykim for writing the grrrreat piece below, which finally inspired me to get off my behind and WRITE SOMETHING! you are a badass, and you definitely have cohones! *
with a number of other colorful expletives at our disposal in this day and age, why is it that 'bitch' is always the default insult hurled at women?
when i meditate upon my own usage of the term, i realize i use it for two distinct purposes:
1) in a self-deprecating manner, when referring to behavior i am not proud of, e.g., "god, i am being such a bitch right now!"
2) when describing a man who is displaying behavior i believe to be unacceptable. please refer to exhibit a, the title of this post, which is a direct quote from the 90's film friday.
i feel no qualms about using 'bitch' to refer to myself or men i dislike, but i am careful not to use it in reference to other women, even those who i may dislike with a fervent passion. in my mind, doing so would be out of line with my feminist ideals. bitch, like slut, is a word that i try to avoid using, period...well, except when it is used to describe a man or men, in which case i use it with reckless abandon! (what a sexist hypocrite i am!)
all of this makes me think about 'bitch' is defined in our culture. to me, it seems that bitchy women are usually conceived of as those who either a) possess too many 'manly' characteristics (assertive, bold, tough), or b) are just evil and conniving in ways that only women can be (epitome of the mean-ass woman from hell). with this in mind, my conception of the male bitch turns the former definition on its head. a bitchy man is weak and lacks figurative balls - characteristics generally attributed to women, but in my definition only describes a particular breed of jackass man. in plain and simple terms, he's a weenie and a wimp.
this whole thing feels somehow connected to the way in which i delight in using male-derived phrases like "don't break my balls" or happily commenting that badass girls with moxie "have cohones." it's too bad i don't derive the same pleasure from reciting sassy phrases referring to my own, true female anatomy...why is that? maybe one day, i'll be confident and bold enough to say things like, "i got tits" and have it not be a sexual thing...but will there ever be a day when women's bodies will become less hypersexualized? sigh. not likely, in my book.
in the end, i managed to have 'bitch' removed from the scene in question. it was replaced with a snide, sneering 'sweetheart'...such a small victory, but a feather in my cap nonetheless!
* special thanks to taberlykim for writing the grrrreat piece below, which finally inspired me to get off my behind and WRITE SOMETHING! you are a badass, and you definitely have cohones! *
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Marking the occasion
This feels like a post for women's writes....
I finally decided, now with more conviction than ever, how I want to permanently mark my body. It was my second to last day in Saigon and it came to me so clearly as I lay, meditating about the meaning of my trip and my direction in life. Colorful: like orange red fire with blue and green accents. About the size of a pomelo's diameter. Think: art like that of Chris Nunez on Miami Ink, Right shoulder blade. Kickass.
Background info lifted from web research, which I did after I had my revelation:
The Phoenix is usually depicted as a bird of great beauty and luxuriant plumage. In mythology (probably mix of western and eastern) the Phoenix would build a nest of aromatic twigs, set fire to itself, and be consumed in the funeral pyre of it's own making. After three days the Phoenix would arise from the ashes, reborn. The phoenix represented the victory of life over death.
As a tattoo symbol, the Phoenix can be found in many tattoo genres, but of the Far East in particular. It is a symbol of resurrection, rebirth and regeneration. It also represents purification and transformation through fire and adversity.
. . .
My exact thought/resolution was that I was to be fabulous from that point on, to show the world what I am and what I have to offer without reservation. It was such an empowering thought. At the beginning of January, I symbolically proposed marriage to myself and now I want something to show the world how fierce I can be, and a reminder of my commitment.
My life is for me. And instead of wondering whether I'm #3 or #347 on another's priority list, I will be my own #1 Girl.
I finally decided, now with more conviction than ever, how I want to permanently mark my body. It was my second to last day in Saigon and it came to me so clearly as I lay, meditating about the meaning of my trip and my direction in life. Colorful: like orange red fire with blue and green accents. About the size of a pomelo's diameter. Think: art like that of Chris Nunez on Miami Ink, Right shoulder blade. Kickass.
Background info lifted from web research, which I did after I had my revelation:
The Phoenix is usually depicted as a bird of great beauty and luxuriant plumage. In mythology (probably mix of western and eastern) the Phoenix would build a nest of aromatic twigs, set fire to itself, and be consumed in the funeral pyre of it's own making. After three days the Phoenix would arise from the ashes, reborn. The phoenix represented the victory of life over death.
As a tattoo symbol, the Phoenix can be found in many tattoo genres, but of the Far East in particular. It is a symbol of resurrection, rebirth and regeneration. It also represents purification and transformation through fire and adversity.
. . .
My exact thought/resolution was that I was to be fabulous from that point on, to show the world what I am and what I have to offer without reservation. It was such an empowering thought. At the beginning of January, I symbolically proposed marriage to myself and now I want something to show the world how fierce I can be, and a reminder of my commitment.
My life is for me. And instead of wondering whether I'm #3 or #347 on another's priority list, I will be my own #1 Girl.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Check Yourself
The latest news from back home is that a former co-worker of mine, a 32-year old woman, was just diagnosed with breast cancer.
By now, we've all heard that breast cancer strikes earlier and earlier but, for me at least, it was an urban legend; the stuff of made-for-TV movies and Marie Claire articles. This is the first time it's ever hit close to home.
Check yourself, girls.
By now, we've all heard that breast cancer strikes earlier and earlier but, for me at least, it was an urban legend; the stuff of made-for-TV movies and Marie Claire articles. This is the first time it's ever hit close to home.
Check yourself, girls.
Monday, November 26, 2007
That Darn Biological Urge ...
Among the many things I have done in attempts to rid myself of my stubborn, disgusting acne:
As I fret, research, put extra effort into my appearance to distract from the spots and eschew a delicious pasta product that I crave, I sometimes think to myself how fortunate I really must be. Not fortunate to have persistent and ugly acne, of course, but fortunate enough to have such an easy life that I can become obsessed with my looks. Witness: in researching volunteer projects I'd like to take part in next year, not ONE of the "relief" projects in Tanzania, Cambodia, Costa Rica or Chile involves "Bolstering Self Esteem" or "Sexy Makeovers."
I soothe my guilt by telling myself that my vanity is a biological urge and cannot be helped. Species are driven to carry on their genes and they do this through natural selection. I must be fit if I am to be considered a desirable partner for DNA recombination. No one, I am sure, will want to chance passing on skin like mine. Or turkey thighs like mine. Or my puffy hair.
So there. I do not combat disease or hunger or bad breakups or financial misery but I do plenty of combat in the fight to carry on my genes.
Now back to the vinegar and green vegetables .....
- visited 4 dermatologists
- used various topical ointments
- taken various antibiotics
- taken birth control
- entertained religious thoughts
- used at-home peels
- wasted thousands of dollars on over-the-counter products
- applied masks made of aspirin, egg yolk and honey
- trolled acne message boards day and night
- learned how to read cosmetic product ingredient lists in search of comedogenic components
- performed wildly unsuccessful "acne surgery" at home
- exfoliated with Scotch tape
- used unknown acne supplements from skincare boutiques
- used vinegar, straight, as a toner
- swallowed vinegar
- gone on a no wheat/no dairy/no processed sugars/no junk food diet
As I fret, research, put extra effort into my appearance to distract from the spots and eschew a delicious pasta product that I crave, I sometimes think to myself how fortunate I really must be. Not fortunate to have persistent and ugly acne, of course, but fortunate enough to have such an easy life that I can become obsessed with my looks. Witness: in researching volunteer projects I'd like to take part in next year, not ONE of the "relief" projects in Tanzania, Cambodia, Costa Rica or Chile involves "Bolstering Self Esteem" or "Sexy Makeovers."
I soothe my guilt by telling myself that my vanity is a biological urge and cannot be helped. Species are driven to carry on their genes and they do this through natural selection. I must be fit if I am to be considered a desirable partner for DNA recombination. No one, I am sure, will want to chance passing on skin like mine. Or turkey thighs like mine. Or my puffy hair.
So there. I do not combat disease or hunger or bad breakups or financial misery but I do plenty of combat in the fight to carry on my genes.
Now back to the vinegar and green vegetables .....
Friday, November 16, 2007
Hell yeah
Great News, curvy women! I'm so glad I broke out of the eating disorder phase of my negative body image issues.
(click on the title of the post)
(click on the title of the post)
Friday, November 02, 2007
New, Old
It is strange to look at the scuffed, painful, ugly and dowdy shoes in my closet and remember a time many years ago when I first spied them in the store window and stopped short, heart in throat, wondering just who at Nine West had read my mind and produced the exact black leather pumps with round toes and 4 inch high stacked heels that I had been dreaming of.
And I would rather walk the spit, dust and gum-strewn streets barefoot than wear them now.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Wounds still Fresh
One of my friends sent this to me. I hear the message, but I don't know what to think yet.
Mayda Del Valle - To All The Boys I've Loved Before
Mayda Del Valle - To All The Boys I've Loved Before
Saturday, October 27, 2007
calling all spammers
we're not interested in your phony biz deals, lame ecards, lottery notifications or penis enhancements. i will continue to delete your posts whenever i find them, so please move on to the next site. try posting your trash elsewhere!
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Completely Useless?
The other day, between classes, I told another teacher that I am planning on taking the annual Japanese Language Proficiency Test this December. Never you mind what level, especially when I tell you that the teacher I was talking to is taking the highest level of the test. Since Japanese is one of the hardest languages for native English speakers to learn (3 systems of writing plus grammar that is just about the inverse of what exists in English), the simple act of saying, "I am taking the 1-kyuu level exam" tends to have the effect of evoking a silent, reverent hush among the Westerners in the room. I nudged my piddly low level exam preparation book to the recesses of my purse, thoroughly shamed that I had even thought to tell her I was taking the exam. After all, she knows over 1000 Chinese symbols, multiple thousands of Japanese words and has mastered enough Japanese vocabulary and its twisted, devious grammar to read a newspaper. I wasn't worthy; I wasn't worthy ...
My coworker saw that I was impressed and immediately began to denigrate her skills. She was taking the 1-kyuu, sure, she said, but there was no way she'd pass. It took her 6 years, after all, to learn 1000 kanji* and now she had 2 months to learn 1000 more. "It is," she declared, "impossible."
*Chinese symbols used heavily in Japanese writing
"Oh, it can't be," I said. "You've already come so far. And how fantastic that you've learned so much Japanese in the first place!"
Here, my coworker grimaced. "It honestly isn't that great," she said. "As a matter of fact, I didn't recommend it, considering that learning Japanese is really sort of useless."*
"Useless!" I was flabbergasted. "What do you mean?"
(*Let me pause here to state that before she declared the study of Japanese "useless", my coworker told me she was having an "I hate Japan" day - very common for ex patriots. That said ... )
"It's useless," she continued, "because for the insane amount of work it takes for a native English speaker to even learn the language it just isn't worth it when you'll probably never have the opportunity to use it once you move back home."
My coworker had a point. Realistically speaking, how exactly is Japanese going to help either of us when we move away, beyond helping us speak to waiters at Japanese restaurants and impressing Japanese friends, or the random nihonjin we meet? Myself, I'll never have the sort of job where I have to deal with Japanese businessmen and I really don't foresee myself marrying into a Japanese family. So why even try to master Japanese grammar?
I started studying Japanese in the first place because I didn't want to be an ignorant Ugly American who stomped all over the culture and ran around further embarrassing her people by insisting on speaking English to shopkeepers. Furthermore, I hated depending on my Japanese-speaking friends (all men) to speak for me. Lastly, I love languages and especially love learning anything new. And I love learning new things because, ultimately, though I see her point, I am not like my coworker on her "I hate Japan!" day.
You see, I don't think there is such a thing as "useless knowledge."
"Random facts," "useless knowledge": these terms are popular in American culture. People who can quote scientific equations or name the number one hits of cultural icons from the 40s are sniggered at - until they win cool millions on Jeopardy, of course. Learning skills you don't actually use or being an Arts major in college is especially scoffed at. What will you ever do with a head full of theory? our parents, friends, and parents' friends complain. Computers; go into computers. Or business. Something you can touch. Double major - why?
I double majored in college - two majors that could only be considered "useless" - English and Paleoanthropology. Granted - the latter is hardly a "useless" field but if you aren't planning on entering it then the hours spent in the lab, the papers sweated over, the numerous primate taxa memorized do start to seem un-worth it. I double majored because I was fascinated in evolution, stones and bones - I needed to know more. I also wanted to study literature because I saw myself as a novelist, from the time I was small. I wasn't particularly interested in working for newspapers so English, rather than the rule-heavy Journalism, was really all that fit, even if it didn't necessarily translate itself to a sure-fire job once I graduated.
Five years later, I'm proud to report that I've been making a living ever since I graduated; first at TV Guide and then as an editor at a media research company that went from a start up in Chinatown to a swanky operation on Park Avenue. Today, I'm an English teacher living abroad and since I moved to Japan my creativity is higher than ever. No, I have never been required to discuss Shakespeare or Faulkner at my jobs but just because I am not required to discuss them doesn't mean I don't. I'm never far from someone who loves to read as much as I do and I've yet to find someone who is unimpressed by my knowledge of human and primate anatomy. I love the things I learned and even if I did feel disgruntled during the lean times when I was out of work nothing could ever take from me the ecstasy I felt each time I was inspired by Hemingway or examined the unmistakable evidence of the valgus knee in an archaic hominid.
Any fool will tell you that knowledge is power. Most of us will never have the opportunity to use what we learned in science camp to create a bomb out of chocolate and foil, but for those of us who live simple, quiet lives, our hard work is usually reward us through the sweet, random little life surprise.
Hands-down, my favorite thing about life is the sweet, random little surprises. Let me illustrate: at 15, you buy a blue T-shirt at Wet Seal with the image of a frizzy-haired woman you can't place so you ask your mom and discover that it's Gilda Radner, star of Saturday Night Live in the 70s. You develop an interest and research her career, discovering a genuine admiration for the woman's comedic gifts. At 20, you meet a woman in a coffee shop while wearing that old T-shirt who is so impressed she comments on it. She loves Gilda Radner, she gushes. Gilda was her favorite comedienne - ever. You chat it up and before you know it, you find a wonderful new friend who, actually, later introduces you to the man who will become your new boss at a time when you are desperate for work. Surprise!! Thank you, Gilda and Wet Seal.
All right, so maybe that's an extreme example but I'm sure the general pattern is familiar; or at least I hope it is because the random little surprise is such a sweet part of life. The random little surprise ... so very often brought about by a shared or obscure knowledge gleaned at some point when it seemed completely unimportant.
Here, some examples from my own life:
At 13, I decided to write a novel. It would be set in Germany and take place during World War II. My protagonist would be Jewish and, of course, she would be sent to Auschwitz*. I read everything I could find on the Holocaust, Judaism and even started trying to learn German.
*Please ignore the ludicrousness of this idea - I was 13, after all, and I had great ambition.
When I was 15, I realized how fabulously ridiculous and offensive my nearly-completed novel was. I was a 15 year old girl surrounded by Catholics and Protestants in a Florida town that had, perhaps, 5 Jewish families. I'd never starved, I knew nothing about life. How could I possibly write a novel about the Holocaust??? I set aside my hard work, burning with shame. Oh, the waste of all those hours in the library, fueled by creative passion and empathy.
Three years later, I became infatuated with a half-Jewish man who was living in Germany and obsessed with World War II. He laughed at what he called my "scheiss German" but was impressed with my other knowledge. Our relationship was poisonous and things ended badly, but nonetheless, my research at age 13 had not been in vain. I moved to New York at 18, where I was surrounded by Jewish people and got plenty of opportunity to expand my knowledge of their culture. Just the other day, I met a German tourist in Thailand who was impressed that I knew various cities in Germany - things learned from my time with the World War II nut.
In college, as I stated, I studied Paleoanthropology. It hasn't earned me a dime (... yet) but it has made impressed countless acquaintances and made me extremely aware of my anatomy. On a crowded train with no straps to grab, I tuck my knees in towards each other since I know that part of the reason H. sapiens can stand upright is because our femurs are slanted inwards (the valgus knee), which affects our center of gravity. As the train jostles, I give my center of gravity a little help. I never, ever fall.
At 6, I decided I was going to be an author and taught myself to type on the typewriter in my father's office. I soon discovered that I was extremely fast at it and after taking a typing course my Freshman year of high school, I could literally type over 100 words per minute with my eyes shut. At 27, I have no creative work published but since I was 20, I have run a transcription side business that brings in at least a couple of thousand extra dollars per year. No, I'm not an author ... but was learning how to type useless? I think not. And who knows ... I might write that novel yet.
No knowledge is useless; it only depends on how open you are to using it and how large you expect your reward to be. Sometimes we use it in a small way, sometimes we use it in a large way. Your mosaic of knowledge makes you who you are. We can never, ever know what opportunities will arise or how anything we know now can help us. Good Boy and Girl Scouts fill their minds and are always prepared. You don't have to be an ace at building fires to shine - although I do recommend learning things like tying slip knots and building fires. Just look at those poor folks on Lost. Again, fictional, but ....
My boyfriend is Irish. Years ago, I worked in an Irish bar with a number of his countrymen. I learned a lot of Irish slang, that a fantastic Irish TV show called Father Ted existed, the fact that Catholics call the Northern Irish city "Derry" and Protestants call it "London Derry," and a number of folk tunes. At the time, I was angry and humiliated to be working as a waitress when I had a double bachelor's in Arts from NYU. I look at it now as getting a head start.
But if my relationship with Colm doesn't work out, I suppose could meet and marry that Japanese boy yet. In any case, I'll be ready.
My coworker saw that I was impressed and immediately began to denigrate her skills. She was taking the 1-kyuu, sure, she said, but there was no way she'd pass. It took her 6 years, after all, to learn 1000 kanji* and now she had 2 months to learn 1000 more. "It is," she declared, "impossible."
*Chinese symbols used heavily in Japanese writing
"Oh, it can't be," I said. "You've already come so far. And how fantastic that you've learned so much Japanese in the first place!"
Here, my coworker grimaced. "It honestly isn't that great," she said. "As a matter of fact, I didn't recommend it, considering that learning Japanese is really sort of useless."*
"Useless!" I was flabbergasted. "What do you mean?"
(*Let me pause here to state that before she declared the study of Japanese "useless", my coworker told me she was having an "I hate Japan" day - very common for ex patriots. That said ... )
"It's useless," she continued, "because for the insane amount of work it takes for a native English speaker to even learn the language it just isn't worth it when you'll probably never have the opportunity to use it once you move back home."
My coworker had a point. Realistically speaking, how exactly is Japanese going to help either of us when we move away, beyond helping us speak to waiters at Japanese restaurants and impressing Japanese friends, or the random nihonjin we meet? Myself, I'll never have the sort of job where I have to deal with Japanese businessmen and I really don't foresee myself marrying into a Japanese family. So why even try to master Japanese grammar?
I started studying Japanese in the first place because I didn't want to be an ignorant Ugly American who stomped all over the culture and ran around further embarrassing her people by insisting on speaking English to shopkeepers. Furthermore, I hated depending on my Japanese-speaking friends (all men) to speak for me. Lastly, I love languages and especially love learning anything new. And I love learning new things because, ultimately, though I see her point, I am not like my coworker on her "I hate Japan!" day.
You see, I don't think there is such a thing as "useless knowledge."
"Random facts," "useless knowledge": these terms are popular in American culture. People who can quote scientific equations or name the number one hits of cultural icons from the 40s are sniggered at - until they win cool millions on Jeopardy, of course. Learning skills you don't actually use or being an Arts major in college is especially scoffed at. What will you ever do with a head full of theory? our parents, friends, and parents' friends complain. Computers; go into computers. Or business. Something you can touch. Double major - why?
I double majored in college - two majors that could only be considered "useless" - English and Paleoanthropology. Granted - the latter is hardly a "useless" field but if you aren't planning on entering it then the hours spent in the lab, the papers sweated over, the numerous primate taxa memorized do start to seem un-worth it. I double majored because I was fascinated in evolution, stones and bones - I needed to know more. I also wanted to study literature because I saw myself as a novelist, from the time I was small. I wasn't particularly interested in working for newspapers so English, rather than the rule-heavy Journalism, was really all that fit, even if it didn't necessarily translate itself to a sure-fire job once I graduated.
Five years later, I'm proud to report that I've been making a living ever since I graduated; first at TV Guide and then as an editor at a media research company that went from a start up in Chinatown to a swanky operation on Park Avenue. Today, I'm an English teacher living abroad and since I moved to Japan my creativity is higher than ever. No, I have never been required to discuss Shakespeare or Faulkner at my jobs but just because I am not required to discuss them doesn't mean I don't. I'm never far from someone who loves to read as much as I do and I've yet to find someone who is unimpressed by my knowledge of human and primate anatomy. I love the things I learned and even if I did feel disgruntled during the lean times when I was out of work nothing could ever take from me the ecstasy I felt each time I was inspired by Hemingway or examined the unmistakable evidence of the valgus knee in an archaic hominid.
Any fool will tell you that knowledge is power. Most of us will never have the opportunity to use what we learned in science camp to create a bomb out of chocolate and foil, but for those of us who live simple, quiet lives, our hard work is usually reward us through the sweet, random little life surprise.
Hands-down, my favorite thing about life is the sweet, random little surprises. Let me illustrate: at 15, you buy a blue T-shirt at Wet Seal with the image of a frizzy-haired woman you can't place so you ask your mom and discover that it's Gilda Radner, star of Saturday Night Live in the 70s. You develop an interest and research her career, discovering a genuine admiration for the woman's comedic gifts. At 20, you meet a woman in a coffee shop while wearing that old T-shirt who is so impressed she comments on it. She loves Gilda Radner, she gushes. Gilda was her favorite comedienne - ever. You chat it up and before you know it, you find a wonderful new friend who, actually, later introduces you to the man who will become your new boss at a time when you are desperate for work. Surprise!! Thank you, Gilda and Wet Seal.
All right, so maybe that's an extreme example but I'm sure the general pattern is familiar; or at least I hope it is because the random little surprise is such a sweet part of life. The random little surprise ... so very often brought about by a shared or obscure knowledge gleaned at some point when it seemed completely unimportant.
Here, some examples from my own life:
At 13, I decided to write a novel. It would be set in Germany and take place during World War II. My protagonist would be Jewish and, of course, she would be sent to Auschwitz*. I read everything I could find on the Holocaust, Judaism and even started trying to learn German.
*Please ignore the ludicrousness of this idea - I was 13, after all, and I had great ambition.
When I was 15, I realized how fabulously ridiculous and offensive my nearly-completed novel was. I was a 15 year old girl surrounded by Catholics and Protestants in a Florida town that had, perhaps, 5 Jewish families. I'd never starved, I knew nothing about life. How could I possibly write a novel about the Holocaust??? I set aside my hard work, burning with shame. Oh, the waste of all those hours in the library, fueled by creative passion and empathy.
Three years later, I became infatuated with a half-Jewish man who was living in Germany and obsessed with World War II. He laughed at what he called my "scheiss German" but was impressed with my other knowledge. Our relationship was poisonous and things ended badly, but nonetheless, my research at age 13 had not been in vain. I moved to New York at 18, where I was surrounded by Jewish people and got plenty of opportunity to expand my knowledge of their culture. Just the other day, I met a German tourist in Thailand who was impressed that I knew various cities in Germany - things learned from my time with the World War II nut.
In college, as I stated, I studied Paleoanthropology. It hasn't earned me a dime (... yet) but it has made impressed countless acquaintances and made me extremely aware of my anatomy. On a crowded train with no straps to grab, I tuck my knees in towards each other since I know that part of the reason H. sapiens can stand upright is because our femurs are slanted inwards (the valgus knee), which affects our center of gravity. As the train jostles, I give my center of gravity a little help. I never, ever fall.
At 6, I decided I was going to be an author and taught myself to type on the typewriter in my father's office. I soon discovered that I was extremely fast at it and after taking a typing course my Freshman year of high school, I could literally type over 100 words per minute with my eyes shut. At 27, I have no creative work published but since I was 20, I have run a transcription side business that brings in at least a couple of thousand extra dollars per year. No, I'm not an author ... but was learning how to type useless? I think not. And who knows ... I might write that novel yet.
No knowledge is useless; it only depends on how open you are to using it and how large you expect your reward to be. Sometimes we use it in a small way, sometimes we use it in a large way. Your mosaic of knowledge makes you who you are. We can never, ever know what opportunities will arise or how anything we know now can help us. Good Boy and Girl Scouts fill their minds and are always prepared. You don't have to be an ace at building fires to shine - although I do recommend learning things like tying slip knots and building fires. Just look at those poor folks on Lost. Again, fictional, but ....
My boyfriend is Irish. Years ago, I worked in an Irish bar with a number of his countrymen. I learned a lot of Irish slang, that a fantastic Irish TV show called Father Ted existed, the fact that Catholics call the Northern Irish city "Derry" and Protestants call it "London Derry," and a number of folk tunes. At the time, I was angry and humiliated to be working as a waitress when I had a double bachelor's in Arts from NYU. I look at it now as getting a head start.
But if my relationship with Colm doesn't work out, I suppose could meet and marry that Japanese boy yet. In any case, I'll be ready.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
gee golly goodness, granny!
Doris Lessing wins Nobel for literature - Yahoo!
News http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071011/ap_on_en_ot/nobel_literature
simone sent me this link today...coolness! pls, check it out :)
News http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071011/ap_on_en_ot/nobel_literature
simone sent me this link today...coolness! pls, check it out :)
Monday, October 08, 2007
The Aftermath
How do you deal with the break up of a relationship that lasted longer than all your previous relationships combined? Yes, these are relative terms.... I'm talking 6 years.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Preaching to the (culturally-aware) choir
I do apologize for being totally AWOL. I have since started medical school, and because this is the week of our first exam, I am SERIOUSLY PROCRASTINATING! But also, we started a new unit in our "fuzzy" half of the curriculum, and an event in today's class particularly bothered me. I've copied the post I wrote on my own blog, below.
Wish me luck! It all goes down Friday!
**********
Today, we began the small-groups sessions of our Communications class. This is where we're going to learn to gain patients' trust, built empathy, and overall communicate effectively. Part of this class requires us to research some "difficult topic", and then make a presentation to the group and practice the scenario with a patient instructor.
My school is starting this new program, a pilot, really, where they want to introduce culturally sticky situations into the repertoire of uncomfortable topics and situations. So, during our first small-group session, today, in the midst of our introducing ourselves to each other and talking about our backgrounds, one of the course's co-directors came in to talk about this program. At the end, she passed out the handouts that explained the pilot and asked interested parties to take one.
Everyone did EXCEPT the two white-male students in the group.
After everyone talked about where they were from, including those of us born in or have traveled extensively abroad (at least three of us), it just does not seem right. Here in medical school, you should be learning to deal with people from other cultures, and it shouldn't be optional. You're not really going to have the option of excluding cultural groups from your practice*, so shouldn't you be learning how to "be respectful at all times" within a variety of contexts? No, not an exhaustive course in the nuances of every cultures, but rather an idea of the variance in interpretations of major life crises and sickness.
Maybe it is because these two men intend to practice in their home states, somewhere rural, maybe. An all-WASP town. However, you're here now. You're in Chicago, with the largest Hispanic population outside Los Angeles, with social problems of gentrification, amongst other aspects and issues of diversity. You can't hide from it.
It's not even a matter of the school's curriculum, although I think there are limitations to that - there's a couple sessions (a handful of hours) of cultural sensitivity training in the spring. But in a room where you are the only WASPs amongst your peers, it's a slap in the face of everyone else that you passed the stack of sheets on - totally uninterested in (or most likely oblivious to) bridging the gap - and passed on the opportunity to seem empathetic within your own classroom. Honestly, if you're going to be offensive to your peers on the first day of class, I can only wonder how you, after you have the "M" and "D" next to your Anglican surname, will treat the patients whose names you cannot pronounce, who you may have to speak to with an interpreter, or who are scared and apprehensive or overly obedient because they come from another culture.
Will you show them the same kind of empathy you showed us today?
*No, you should not be excluding cultural groups from your practice. Unless you are racist. Which, if you are, that's a whole other ethical issue.
**********
Any questions/comments you want to direct specifically to me can be sent to: da period pan period jin atsign gmail period com.
Wish me luck! It all goes down Friday!
**********
Today, we began the small-groups sessions of our Communications class. This is where we're going to learn to gain patients' trust, built empathy, and overall communicate effectively. Part of this class requires us to research some "difficult topic", and then make a presentation to the group and practice the scenario with a patient instructor.
My school is starting this new program, a pilot, really, where they want to introduce culturally sticky situations into the repertoire of uncomfortable topics and situations. So, during our first small-group session, today, in the midst of our introducing ourselves to each other and talking about our backgrounds, one of the course's co-directors came in to talk about this program. At the end, she passed out the handouts that explained the pilot and asked interested parties to take one.
Everyone did EXCEPT the two white-male students in the group.
After everyone talked about where they were from, including those of us born in or have traveled extensively abroad (at least three of us), it just does not seem right. Here in medical school, you should be learning to deal with people from other cultures, and it shouldn't be optional. You're not really going to have the option of excluding cultural groups from your practice*, so shouldn't you be learning how to "be respectful at all times" within a variety of contexts? No, not an exhaustive course in the nuances of every cultures, but rather an idea of the variance in interpretations of major life crises and sickness.
Maybe it is because these two men intend to practice in their home states, somewhere rural, maybe. An all-WASP town. However, you're here now. You're in Chicago, with the largest Hispanic population outside Los Angeles, with social problems of gentrification, amongst other aspects and issues of diversity. You can't hide from it.
It's not even a matter of the school's curriculum, although I think there are limitations to that - there's a couple sessions (a handful of hours) of cultural sensitivity training in the spring. But in a room where you are the only WASPs amongst your peers, it's a slap in the face of everyone else that you passed the stack of sheets on - totally uninterested in (or most likely oblivious to) bridging the gap - and passed on the opportunity to seem empathetic within your own classroom. Honestly, if you're going to be offensive to your peers on the first day of class, I can only wonder how you, after you have the "M" and "D" next to your Anglican surname, will treat the patients whose names you cannot pronounce, who you may have to speak to with an interpreter, or who are scared and apprehensive or overly obedient because they come from another culture.
Will you show them the same kind of empathy you showed us today?
*No, you should not be excluding cultural groups from your practice. Unless you are racist. Which, if you are, that's a whole other ethical issue.
**********
Any questions/comments you want to direct specifically to me can be sent to: da period pan period jin atsign gmail period com.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Call Me a Hypocrite ...
Technically, the video I am about to share with you should offend each and every one of us, as feminists. It shows - shock! horror! - a male publicly degrading a female. In his familiar eyes is a sadistic gleam and his barbed words are veiled in a friendly tone. To add to the horror, the aforementioned public degradation is an ambush. The female, to her credit, reacts with arguable poise and stands up for herself: "You're making me sad I came," she says. "You're hurting my feelings!" The audience is less than sympathetic - they roar with laughter each time the man licks his chops and delivers yet another carefully crafted attack.
So why am I not outraged at this display that occurred on national television, on a major American network? Why am I not sympathizing with the mistreated female? Why am I, instead, posting the video of this occurrence in this forum and about to hit you with what I intend to be the clincher for this blog post?
Because the man committing this act is David Letterman and the woman is Paris Hilton.
Call me a hypocrite if you want. Sorry, sisters - this is one time when I've gotta side with the boys.
Besides; Dave hasn't been this sharp in a long time.
So why am I not outraged at this display that occurred on national television, on a major American network? Why am I not sympathizing with the mistreated female? Why am I, instead, posting the video of this occurrence in this forum and about to hit you with what I intend to be the clincher for this blog post?
Because the man committing this act is David Letterman and the woman is Paris Hilton.
Call me a hypocrite if you want. Sorry, sisters - this is one time when I've gotta side with the boys.
Besides; Dave hasn't been this sharp in a long time.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Choices
Today, as soon as he opened his eyes, I told my boyfriend:
"Good morning! My friend wants me to proofread an article for him so I might be busy for a little while. But you are welcome to take off your shirt and prance about for my amusement."
As soon as I said the words, I thought that perhaps I was being unfair and decided to give him another option:
"Or if you prefer," I said, "you can also make me breakfast."
He can never say I'm not a good girlfriend.
"Good morning! My friend wants me to proofread an article for him so I might be busy for a little while. But you are welcome to take off your shirt and prance about for my amusement."
As soon as I said the words, I thought that perhaps I was being unfair and decided to give him another option:
"Or if you prefer," I said, "you can also make me breakfast."
He can never say I'm not a good girlfriend.
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