I read a lot. Like any good English degree holding human, I like to read what I call Grown Up Books (Pulitzer Prize winners, The Classics, books that make me think about the Big Questions, etc.). But in between those books? I like Candy. You know what I mean. I read Gender Trouble by Judith Butler (Grown Up Book) followed by The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman (Candy). I read Atonement by Ian McEwan (Grown Up Book) followed by-- and I can't believe I'm saying actually admitting this-- Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella (PURE Candy... makes your teeth hurt, I'm embarrassed now).
When I first read the Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, I read it in a day. I just could not stop reading it. People were trying to talk to me and I couldn't even respond to them, so into this book was I. I gasped out loud and laughed out loud at how psycho the story was. I ended up reading Flynn's two other books as soon as I could-- Dark Places is my favorite. Her stories are Twizzlers (twisted and delicious) with fun characters. Now, I classify her books as Candy. They are fun, they aren't making a Big Important Statement about anything. They are just really effed up stories that you can devour as fast as a box of Swedish Fish. I like red candy.
"Totally twisted," just like Gillian Flynn's fiction. Yummy.
I just left an afternoon showing of Gone Girl and I wasn't disappointed. Gillian Flynn wrote the screenplay and David Fincher directed so it was bound to be a good, nasty, and twisted book-to-film adaptation. However, despite my excitement, I found myself feeling irritated going in to view the film by the feminist rage that has been pointed at Flynn since the movie has received so much buzz. That it glamorizes rape culture and makes violence against women a punchline. A piece from Ms. Magazine's blog about how the conversation about how white privilege is missing from the Gone Girl debates made me think: Since when is Gillian Flynn responsible for addressing everysingleissue in our society through her Candy stories?
Does Stephen King get this much shit whenever one of his movies comes out? "How dare you, Stephen King. I can't believe you didn't take the opportunity to really dig deep into animal abuse issues with Pet Cemetery. You sir, are not on the side of the animals."
I bet he doesn't. Because he's a dude.
I shall now go back to my regular reading schedule. Next up is The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. I haven't started it yet, but I'm sure if it is made into a film, there will be something she should have addressed that she didn't address and how dare she.
I was asked by the community manager at Man Crates Gifts for Men to talk about what I, a womanly woman, would gift a man for his "man cave." First, I need to talk about Man Crates Gifts for Men, and not because they asked. I checked out the website and I'm liking the selection, although my feminist self wants them to be just called "Crates." 'Cuz, yeah I have a vagina, but I would totally like to get one of these and open it with a crowbar.
All I'm sayin' is give the ladies some love or a shout out. If I had to choose between a crate that smelled of roses filled with petals and pink candles and makeup and frilly shit and a Man Crate, I'd choose a Man Crate.
Now, as for what I'd want if I was to gift the Hubs with items to spruce up his"man cave"-- which will henceforth be referred to as Our Basement. These are the ways in which I would Jen-i-fy Our Basement.
As a supportive and loving BDubs, I am cool with The Hubs having band practice in the basement. So, the basement walls and ceiling might be covered with something like these sexy soundproofing hexagons for when the Hubs has band practice. So much better than ugly foam:
We'd need a record player with built-in speakers to set next to our other record player (just because we should have two... you know, for portability) in Our Basement:
Speaking of records, we have a lot of great vinyl that should be displayed, but should also be listened to. We would have a wall of these for easy access and awesome viewing:
I'd also like to display some vintage prints of when the Gibson guitar factory called Kalamazoo home. The Kalamazoo Academy of Rock has band practice in the old building now:
And this print of Erykah Badu because we love her:
Actually, I might just buy this print for my office now. [via]
I just saw this pinball machine for the first time the other day and was really pumped about it. Then it ate my quarters and I never got to play. It would definitely be in Our Basement and would offer unlimited plays for everyone, forever:
We already have this, but I only found one at TJ Maxx and I would buy a lifetime supply of these for Our Basement because they smell delicious, natural, and not like someone sprayed gross cologne all over the room:
Finally, the uncomfortable love seat would have to go. I'd replace it with, I don't know, fifteen of these felted wool stone ottomans because they look like stones. I mean, wouldn't you? They're badass.
No TV allowed. We don't want everyone who comes over to just veg out and stare at the screen (or in "man cave" world... The Big Game) instead of rolling around on those freakin' awesome felted wool stones, listening to music, and talking to each other.
Now, Man Crates... can Iwear a white linen shirt and khakis and aviator glasses and carry a machete and have a bear cub (I think that's a bear cub) on a leash while sitting next to the other lady in the picture? Can I?
Response: Man Crates tweeted back to me: "We know great taste for fun and flavor is unisex, and we happily sharpie 'Wo' in front of 'Man Crates' upon request." They probably would let me pet the animal in the picture above too. So what I'm saying is, someone get me the Retro Gamer Crate and make sure they use the Sharpie on it, k thx, xoxo.
*Because I don't know if this happens to thirty-one-year-old married men or women with no children outside of the Midwest.
The following vignettes are presented to you so that I might try to understand what it is about me that invites this type of commentary. Is it simply that I am now in my thirties?
Vignette One: After Eleven Years of a Fairly Happy Relationship
You ain't cool, unless you pee your pants have kids
Background: This is an amalgam of conversations I've had with people when they find out we've been together for a long time.
Person: You've been together for a long time! And married for six years now! That is so great! Any kids?
Me: Nope, we're just living life. Hanging out. Working. Having fun.
Person: And how old are you?
Me: 31.
Person: What? Why no kids? You two would be great parents!
Me: Um, I don't know. We're just busy. Working. Traveling. Watching Netflix. Going out to eat. Living.
Person: I don't even know what marriage would BE like without kids. I wouldn't WANT to know! You guys are just missing out! It's SO special seeing your genes mix with your husband's genes! You have to have kids like, now. Knowing look. You don't want to get too busy. Then you'll be 40 and your eggs will be all dried up!
Me: I am going over there.
Vignette Two: A Conversation with a Strange Old Man at the Gym
Background: I did my usual swim workout and went for my usual stretch in the hot tub afterwards. I was just sitting in the hot tub minding my own business when the Strange Old Man (SOM) started assessing my life.
SOM: Hey there young lady! How was your workout?
Me: It was great! Just stretching out. Leans back and closes eyes.
SOM: Why are you here in the afternoon? Someone got the kids for ya?
Me: Nope... I have the afternoon off. I decided to work out in the afternoon.
SOM: Well do you have any kids?
Me: Sits up and open eyes. Nope.
SOM: Well are you MARRIED?
Me: Yep.
SOM: But no kids.
Me: No.
SOM: How old you?
Me: 31.
SOM: Well that is just wrong. You should have kids. We have SIX kids and THIRTEEN grandchildren! Yep, started when we were 19. As a woman, it is your JOB to have children! SERIOUSLY AND FOR REAL, he then EYES MY BODY UP AND DOWN with beady eyes as I stand up to leave the travesty that is this conversation. Plus, you've got those childbearing hips. Can't let those go to waste.
Me: Jaw automatically juts out. Vein sticks out of neck. Walks to lifeguard and reports the SOM. She says he says shit like that to random people all the time and to tell her if he does it again. Stand and glare at him before leaving the pool area.
Vignette Three: When I Work with Little Kids at My Job
Background: I mostly work with high school aged youth at my amazing job, but sometimes I have to work with kids of all ages. It's awkward with kids ages 8-11. They do not get me and I do not get them. Crickets. No laughter at my jokes. But kids ages 6 and under? It's good times for everyone-- even if I throw my back out from crawling around with them.
Person (after watching me run around with little kids): You don't want to be a mother? You'd be SUCH a great mommy! You have so much energy!
Me: I never said I don't want to be a mother. I just don't want to right now.
Person: Knowingly. Well don't wait toooooo long. You don't want to waste that motherly potential!
Me: K, thanx, bye.
Vignette Four: Populate the Earth. It's Your Responsibility
Background: This happened when I was talking to an older retired woman.
Person: You are in your thirties. You are married. Why haven't you had kids yet?
Me: Oh you know. Trying to work on other stuff right now. Enjoying my man. No big deal.
Person: Um, yes. It is a big deal. Do you know what the birth rate in the United States is right now? It's low because none of YOU young women want to have children. You're all just focusing on other things and not what is important. It's selfish. Do you know who is going to take care of you when you're old?!?!
Me: Trying to lighten the mood. Hopefully one of my old students who remembers how cool I was and doesn't let me sit in a wet diaper, amiright?
Person: No. This society is backwards.
Me: Um. Well. Okay. So. I'm gonna go over there.
Vignette Five: You Don't Have Kids So You Don't Get It
Background:
Me: Did you just have to yell like that at those kids? That was harsh.
Person: Listen. You don't have kids. You don't have a family. You don't understand because you've never experienced raising. a. child.
Me: I don't know, if I haven't started yelling harshly at this point in my life, I can't see myself doing it if I have kids. Bee tee dubs, I have a family. The Hubs, our dogs, and me.
Person: Smugly. You'll understand someday. But you don't get it. You don't have kids.
Background: I have a new ob-gyn because my wonderful midwife in her 70s has retired and the practice I went to has closed. This has nothing to do with the new ob-gyn, but I have to share that after about ten years of annual exams with forgettable people, the first time I had an annual with my former midwife, she gave me the most detailed description of my uterus and cervix that I have ever received in my life. She was beautiful. I will never have that again. Anyway, last week I talked to my new ob-gyn about how I think I want to go off of the pill. I've been reading about hormones and the pill and women's bodies and I am thinking about it, despite the fact that I fear mood swings and adult acne. I want to know-- what's my body like without hormones? Also, maybe I will want to try to have a baby in the next few years. This leads me to my conversation with my new ob-gyn.
Me: I think I want to go off the pill sometime soon. Because hormones. And a maybe-baby if I can get pregnant. In like, a few years.
Ob-gyn: How old are you?
Me: 31.
Ob-gyn: Well, you want to do it before you're 35. You are born with all of the eggs you're ever going to have. You just carry those eggs around with you for your whole life. The longer you carry those eggs with you, the more tossed around and worn they get, ya know? Haha, you know what I mean. You have a huge chance of birth defects after 35 because your eggs are just getting old.
Me: No pressure or anything. Me (internally overacting because all of the above vignettes combined to make my emotions boil over in total anger and annoyance-- I know he was just doing his job and there is truth in his words but I was still super irritated): So I guess I should just pregnant RIGHT NOW because my precious eggs probably have CRACKS ALL OVER THEM. And since I'm 31, they must have MOLD GROWING ALL OVER THEM so I'm probably going to have a MOLDY MAYBE-BABY. Also, I guess the Hubs and I and the dogs aren't a REAL FAMILY because we don't have kids. Plus, I am doing a HORRIBLE job populating the WHOLE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. And these HIPS? They need to be used for CHILDBEARING, RIGHT?! IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, SIR?!
Here is the point, my friends. I don't hate people with kids. I want to try to have kids someday, which I will be writing about in my next post. This is a PSA. Remember that not every person needs to hear every thought you have on the subject of baby-having because maybe that person is thinking about their own stuff and they have their own plans and the comments have maybe been piling up more and more with every passing birthday and it's annoying, ya dig?
My Amazon Prime is up this month and we can't really afford the $99 renewal fee. I decided that was the perfect excuse to order the Fiona Apple Tidal piano songbook off of Amazon. Totally makes sense, right?
When I listen to songs from the Tidal album like Slow Like Honey, I seriously cannot believe that I thought I related to this album when I was in eighth grade. I have a very clear memory of listening to this album (and Live's Throwing Copper) over and over again on my giant Discman on the bus ride to Washington D.C. from Michigan. I remember thinking to myself, "Man, I cannot WAIT to get older."
Um, eighth grade Jen. Slow your roll.
Sometimes when I talk to young people about lyrics of songs and the meaning, they will tell me that they honestly weren't even listening to the words-- they just like the tune or the beat. First, I don't understand how that could even happen. Second, eighth grade Jen listened to all of these Tidal lyrics which is probably why high school was an especially angsty time.
Um, the lyrics to this song make me want to shake eighth grade Jen and clutch my pearls:
I've loved all of Fiona Apple's albums after Tidal, especially When the Pawn, but Tidal was my first exposure to a female artist who sang on what felt like a level that was the opposite of Mariah Carey (who I loved too).
Trying to be ladylike has always perplexed me. I have a mental file folder of the times when people tried to make me feel bad about not being ladylike.
Well, eff those people.
Case in point: College, upstairs apartment living. The first time of many that a stranger looked me in the face and accused me of being un-ladylike. I often stomped up the stairs to our apartment because I'm always stomping somewhere. It probably didn't help that I wore Doc Marten boots with thick soles. Anyway, I was stomping up the stairs to grab something and stomping down the stairs to get to work when I was confronted at the door by the Tiny Blond Woman Who Squatted at Her Boyfriend's Apartment Under the Stairs. Here is an excerpt from our conversation:
TBWWSAHBAUTS: HEY! HEY YOU!
Me: Me?
TBWWSAHBAUTS: YEAH! YOU!
Me: Yeah?
TBWWSAHBAUTS: You are CONSTANTLY STOMPING up and down the stairs like an ELEPHANT. WHY hasn't ANYONE taught you how to be a LADY?!
Me, attempting to be meek: Sorry.
TBWWSAHBAUTS: Just be more of a LADY!!!
Me, heading out to my job on a line: Otay. I'll try.
Well, eff that lady, and eff trying to walk softly and be a lady.
I saw this video today about being un-ladylike and it made me so happy:
There are people out there just like me!
I recently had a week of run-ins concerning my un-ladylike antics that made me feel like maybe I should try to be more of what a lady is expected to be. Case in point (number two): I was attending a fancy party said week that housed a buffet chock full of lobster tail, fried green tomatoes, and handmade gelato, so I was already feeling unable to control my foodcitemnet. I was--seriously-- planning out my plate-by-plate attack of the delicacies on the buffet. I was sitting by strangers (all men) and they were all shooting the breeze and talking about things I don't care about (sports, helicopters, blah-blah) while I ate a plate of fried green tomatoes and two lobster tails. I was also trying to sneak out my phone to take a picture of my plate. Here is the conversation that followed:
Helicopter Man: Slow down there killer.
Me: Why?
Helicopter Man: It's not ladylike.
Me: You're ladylike. I'm getting gelato.
So there.
I've been focusing less on apologizing for who I am and what I do and more on just enjoying who I am. I want to be the old woman lady with the wild long white hair and unapologetic opinions.
Lipgloss. My favorite kind of makeup.
I...
...don't wear makeup and don't care if I ever start.
...wear flannel pajama pants with hole-y and stained t-shirts when I go to the grocery store.
...sometimes have dirt under my fingernails.
...like wearing a backpack instead of a purse.
...enjoy a good gin on the rocks.
...eat in an unattractive fashion because food needs to be in my mouth.
...can't keep heels on for longer than thirty minutes.
