Estrogen Powers, Activate!

Lately I've really been struggling with my identity as a feminist. Am I one? And if I'm not, am I supposed to be? Is it a bad thing? I mean, I certainly don't identify with the women out there who wouldn't vote (and apparently didn't) for Hillary not b/c they disagree with her politics, but rather b/c they feel the White House is no place for a woman. I can't stand those women. Then I have guilt about not standing them, since they're women and I'm a woman. I believe in Women's Rights. I believe things could be and should be better. I don't like to see women being objectified. But at the same time, there are a lot of women out there that get on my last damn nerve; that I relate to about as much as I relate to a Tibetan Monk. I just wanna say to them, "Who are you? And why are you the way that you are?" This is something I struggle with. The truth is that I have instincts that tell me that other women are my competition. I don't know if those instincts are biological, or sociological, but they're there. If you look better than me, then you must not be as smart as me. If you're smarter than me, then your personality must suck. If you've got a great personality, then you must be unattractive. Because if you look better than me, are smarter than me, AND have a great personality...I hate your guts. I don't want you around me or my friends, or any guy I find even remotely attractive--even if I'm currently unavailable to that guy. I don't want him to know that YOU exist. You old thunder stealer!
This is a very dark side of the fairer gender.
Then there are other times I wanna look out for other women. I want to talk to and confide in other women. I want to stick up for other women. Sometimes I even get a little Gloria Aldridge: "Tell me what he did to you Sister. Not only will I believe you, but I'll make sure everyone else does, even if the evidence suggest otherwise."
Sometimes I'm so hyper-sensitive about my gender, that I read into things, or take offense when none was intended. This happened last night. I was at a friend's with another friend hanging out and sharing some Prosecco and a little gossip. It was a girl's night. After a couple of hours her doorbell rings. It's a neighbor. He's had a few beers and his pregnant wife's hormones are a little more than he can handle so he decided to stop in and say Hi. During the course of casual conversation the subject of having twins came up. My one friend said it might be convenient, you know, having them all at once. My other friend who's a new mom said Hell No to all that. I bent each of my elbows up under my breast simulating having to hold two babies at the same time. "No free arms!" I point out. "How would you feed them?" "That's why you have two boobs!" a deep voice from behind me proclaims. Ugh. Really? You're hanging out with three women in their thirties on a Friday night while your pregnant wife is at home bellyaching about her swollen feet and you want us to know we have two tits so we can breastfeed two babies at the same time? I wasn't having it. The femi-nazi in me shoved the girl who laughs too hard at lame jokes told by hot guys aside and took over. I gave him a good glare, followed by a pronounced rolling of the eyes. Then, THEN, he starts talking about how he wishes he could be the one that stayed home with the baby all day while his wife went to work. But since he makes more money than she does it just wouldn't make sense. At this point I open my mouth. "You don't get it...It IS work...You're not a woman...You have NO idea, you're a GUY!" (dum, dum, dum). All the while I'm thinking "Oh! His poor wife!" My friends are silent. They tell the guy he's going to make a good dad. It's obvious they are trying to compensate for the tongue-lashing I just gave him. I start to wonder whose side they're on? OK, NO, I'm not a mom, but I know it's hard work. I know better than HE does, that's for sure. Fortunately the topic of conversation changes. Unfortunately, we moved on to politics. I wasn't having any of his conspiracy theory "Obama's running mate choice is being debated among white supremacists who are trying to figure out who they like enough to be President after they shoot him" bullshit. Finally he decided it was time to go home.
Then the shitty part came. Apparently, this guy's a real ace; does all the housework, the yardwork, runs all the errands, cooks all the food, etc, etc. Apparently, he's really excited about being a Dad and would, most likely, do a better job of taking care of his tot than his wife would. Oops. Guess I better take my eye-mask and my cape with the insignia of a giant tampon on the back of it off.
So, Mr. Nice Guy, if you're out there--I'm sorry, it was the estrogen talking.

It's A Dirty, Dirty World

I really, really like what this guy does. I have a similar fascination with dirt. I like to clean mainly for the before and after effect. I love all those commercials for cleaning products that show a kitchen counter or living room carpet or bathtub completely covered in dirt and muck until they take their superior spray product, or vacuum, and voilà--pristine again!
Like new...because no one likes old.
I also have similar experiences with dirt as this dude. I've worked in a number of restaurants and bars and on my down time couldn't help but look around to see what needed cleaning. Inevitably, I would find one particular dirty spot--spruce it up, step back, and then just like this dude see the contrast between my recently renewed spot and the rest of it, still covered in cigarette smoke or oven grease. It's overwhelming. It's like that Cinderella song "Don't Know What You've Got (Till It's Gone)".
Anyway, cheers to this dude. I wish he lived in my neighborhood instead of the thugs w/ spray paint who like to "tag" everything in sight with illegible letters and misspelled words that mean absolutely nothing to anyone but themselves. Dirtbags.

Thank God That's Over

Something I've always wanted to do but never really committed myself to working toward was going to law school. I thought, "that'd be cool. I'd like to be a lawyer." But then said to myself, "Naahhh. That's a lot of school, and it takes a lot of effort." Then recently, I decided What the Hell? I may as well take the damn LSAT and see how I fare. (I think I mentioned this in a previous post.) Well today, test day finally arrived.

After little preparation and much consternation I took my number two pencils and my current ID (which took a trip to the DMV beforehand) on up to UT to sit for five long, miserable hours with 95 or so recent college grads and bubble in answer sheets. The printable instructions online informed me that a number of items would not be allowed in the testing center. Namely, no cell phone. Furthermore, what items were allowed (wallet, ID, pencils, non-analog watch, sharpener, eraser, and highlighter pen) had to be brought in via a clear ziploc bag no larger than one gallon. Can you believe this shit? It's easier to get on a god damned plane than to take this fucking test!

My boyfriend (and myself to some extent) had concerns that since my photo ID was expired they (you know..."them") wouldn't let me take the test. As it turned out, it wasn't the paper renewal permit the "enforcer" had an issue with, but the actual photo on my old ID. He didn't believe it was me! OK, now, I know it was 10 years ago but jeezus! "Is this you?!" He asked. "Unfortunately" I responded. Silence. Lots of looking down at ID followed by looking up at me. "Are you serious?" I finally asked. "I mean, my hair is different yes. And I look more like my mom in that photo than I'd like to admit. But...c'mon! Have I aged that much?!" He wasn't convinced. He got another one of his "nobody's getting nothing by on us" crew members who asked me to "smile". I did (as best I could; I'm not a smiler anyway and didn't have much of a smile on in the photo). This seemed to work. She told him the smile matched and to check my signature--you had to sign your admittance ticket in front of them along with a thumb print. What drama! I kept thinking "Do I look like a fucking ringer to you?!"

The gestapo then took their roles pacing the aisles back and forth, making sure we didn't open our test booklets ahead of time, that no contraband were anywhere near our desks and that we weren't close enough to each other to get a good glance at a scantron, or worse, speak with one another.

And now, I'm just relieved it's all over. After five hours you don't even care how well you did, you just wanna go home.


(God...I hope I did OK)

You Don't Like Me. You Really Don't Like Me.

Ugh.
So after six years of college I finally finished and said to myself "You will never wait another table again." Oh, if only.
I thought it'd be so simple. I would graduate, then get a teaching job. Boo bureaucracy. Boo teaching certificates.
At first, it was fun-- work sucks, and I wasn't working, all's good.
Then I got broke and it got old. I applied for jobs I didn't want only to never hear from them. What sucks worse than that? It's like when you kinda date somebody you're not really into and then they break up with you.
I curse these people who reject me, each and every one of them.
Finally, last week I saw an ad on craigslist for a hip restaurant in town. It's always busy and totally casual. I thought "Alright, this is it. You need a job; suck it up!" So I went and applied. They called me the next day. I have tons of experience so I suspected they would. Then, I interviewed w/ two people. Not just one, no, he liked me so I advanced to the next boss dude. He seemed to like me. I began to think it was in the bag. In my mind I was already spending the money I was sure I'd soon be making: haircut, color, pedicure, new bag, new shoes....
"OK Shelly. We'll talk it over and get back with you in about three days."
"Oh. OK. Sounds Great. Thanks for meeting with me"
(tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock)
Cut to four days later. No call.
I feeling like calling them to say that they weren't the best candidate for me either. But, it's just sour grapes. And now, finally after 18 + years of work experience, I've learned that sour grapes leave "such a bad taste".

Hey you, new wave, come over here
You're the prettiest thing I've seen all year
Hey you, new wave, don't turn away
Close those pouty lips and listen to what I say
Why must you smoke that clove cigarette?
Why must you act like you've got a hole in you head?
Why don't you split the squares and love me instead?
You're all shiny and clean, I've seen you in my dreams
Like the Rolls Royce I can't have
Your presence makes me scream
Sour grapes - you leave such a bad taste
Sour grapes - I don't need you anyways
Sour grapes - feeding, feeding my rage
Hey you, new wave, I pity you
When you get old, what will you do?
What will you do when you turn 21?
You're cockteasing at the singles bar just for fun
What will you do when you turn 31?
What will you do when you don't know how to love anyone?
I wanted her cherry, I got sour grapes
I refuse to climb the ladder for you
I refuse to pant and paw for you
I need love, don't need no beauty queen
But still, when I look at you, I scream
Sour grapes - you leave such a bad taste
Sour grapes - I don't need you anyways
Sour grapes
Just go riding right by me on the crest of the new wave
Sour grapes - feeding, feeding my rage
Sour grapes

Wookin' Pa Nub

Man I need a break over here. I mean, yeah, I haven't been hitting the pavement as hard as I should have been, or should be. But, I check around on the interwebs and it seems the employment well has done run dry in this town.
Today I applied for a job waiting tables, something I told myself I'd never do again after I graduated college. What are you gonna do? Cash is King. We do whatever it tells us to. If you don't believe me, just check out that shiteously wrong show on Fox where people hook themselves up to a lie detector machine and embarrass themselves and their family on national television in the hopes of winning some cabbage. I'd like to say I'm above that, but...sure am hard up these days. Well, I just remembered that show "Don't Forget the Lyrics". If I was going to humiliate myself I think I'd go that way. So yeah, I'm above that.

The ad for the restaurant job said something about having a good sense of humor. I always wince when I read something like that, or hear people say they are looking for someone with a good sense of humor, or they have a friend who is "so funny!" Funny is subjective. I mean, apparently. Truth be told I believe that what's funny is whatever I say is funny. I'm sure Adam Sandler could make me giggle a few times were we to share a beer together, but I really don't understand his appeal at the box office. An Israeli counter-terrorist bad-ass who really wants to come to America to do hair? Really?
I was thinking about the really good comedians out there. The ones who broke ground. It's kinda sad. Richard Pryor died, Eddie Murphy got real lame, Dave Chappelle lost his mind, and I fear Chris Rock is heading the way of Eddie Murphy: crappy movie after crappy movie.
Then there's the alterna-comics: David Cross, Bob Odenkirk, Patton Oswalt, Brian Posehn, Zach Galifianakis, Michael Showalter, Sarah Silverman, Todd Barry, Blah Blah.
Mr. Show was good. So good nobody watched it. The Sarah Silverman Program is funny...for now.
I'm getting off point now, or I don't have one, or if I do I don't know what it is.
I guess what I'm getting at here is like that old joke: Two cannibals are eating a clown when the one says to the other "Does this taste funny to you?"

Unconnected

This past weekend I moved into a new place. It's smaller, but cozier, than my old place. More importantly, it's cheaper. What I didn't anticipate was the inability to steal my neighbor's wireless connection. Everyone around me now has their shit locked up. Stingy bastards. Well, I decided to bite the bullet and Time-Warner's coming on Friday to get me all hooked up. Until then I'm freeloading in public spaces. Man. Living w/o the internet sucks. Especially when you don't have a job. I depend on the world wide web not only to keep me entertained, but also to find a job.
Hanging out in a coffee shop all day sounds cool, but I have guilt about not spending money in a place I'm spending a lot of time in.
Anyway, it's starting to get crowded and loud in here, and I don't like people.
I'm working on getting a digital camera so you guys can get the big picture of what a day in my worthless hum drum life is like. 'Til then, use your imagination!