Fitting In

Sometimes we don't fit in. Movies and TV shows go out of their way trying to relate to audiences who didn't fit in during middle school or high school, and everyone has at least one period or instance of not quite fitting in somewhere or with some group. I was lucky to be pretty enough (and unassuming) to not get teased or picked on, at least not to my face (and if there was teasing going on behind my back I never got wise to it) and I was also lucky enough to find a very tight knit group of people that accepted me completely. High school was actually very pleasant for me. 

But sometimes we don't fit in with that one group of people we should always feel like we belong with - our families. That's when it gets rough.

Sometimes our families make us feel weird, unusual, or wrong for no reason. And not in horrible awful ways, but subtle ways. A little remark that lets you know you're the only one who believes in something, or that your clothes aren't quite right, or that you're into the wrong kinds of activities. And when we don't feel like we belong with our families we seek out anyone else who will accept us, or at least who will make us feel like we aren't the complete weirdos our families make us think we are.

I got lucky, again, that I found someone who doesn't make me feel like a complete weirdo. Actually, that's not exactly true… I found someone who really likes my weirdness, and participates in it with me. Someone who doesn't believe in the little things I sometimes hear from my family, who even likes the things my family doesn't seem to like about me. Having someone with the same values as I have makes me feel like I'm not totally alone, and it makes dealing with those snide little remarks a little bit easier. Knowing that I can create my own family how I want and that I'm far enough away from those related to me that I don't have to see them and hear their comments about my lifestyle, my beliefs, or my interests very often. 

Changes

The last few weeks have been quite a whirlwind of downs and ups and things that would be so frustrating if they weren't a little funny.

First off, the cat and dog have been living together. Mostly unhappily...

August started with my two year anniversary with the boyfriend (aww). We went to a sushi restaurant in La Jolla that I had a Groupon for, and it was underwhelming. The atmosphere was nice, and going somewhere we've never been before was fun, but the sushi is way better in North Park. Which actually is great, because we eat at one of three nearby sushi places every week, and it's nice to know that we're getting the best without paying an arm and a leg or driving 20 minutes each way. We walked the long way back to the car and stopped at a little cafe that had cakes for dessert.

The very next day was his bff's birthday, so we went to a pizza/beer place, where we met some random southerners who were in San Diego before going to Vegas for a gay wedding. We stayed up late, ate burritos, and fell asleep on the couch until the very early hours of the morning. The day after that I was supposed to go to a meet up with my coworkers, partly because our boss was presenting, but my throat had been hurting all day and I had a mini anxiety attack when I got home from work; the thought of skipping it made me calm down. So I did and spent the evening cleaning my apartment and made one of my night-by-myself dinners. The next day I got a call from a fraud center informing me my debit card was stolen (even though it was still in my wallet). There were four attempts from Honolulu to Baltimore of someone using my card, and one was successful to the tune of $76 - at a Food Maxx in Union City. I went to my credit union to fill out a fraud affidavit (at, like, 515 on a Friday) and raced back home because my mom was in town for a visit... waiting in her car.

Over the weekend my sore throat turned into a full blown cold, but we pretty much spent the whole time at the beach and that made it a lot less severe. We hiked Torrey Pines one day and walked from Torrey Pines to La Jolla Shores the next (I stepped on a bee and got stung on my foot and got to experience seeing a whole lot of old man penis with my mother). Oh, and a pipe beneath my room sprung a leak and we came back Saturday night to discover my carpet was all wet. That awesomeness is in much more detail here.

The boyfriend and I had been talking about living together for a little over a year and had recently decided to aim for the fall, after wedding season was over and he had more time to devote to the process. The ordeal with my apartment made us decide to move that up, so we spent the next week on Craigslist, emailing our favorite listings to each other. We also took a couple nights after work to drive around our target neighborhood looking for rent signs and made a few appointments to see apartments.

On one such night I got a call from my gynecologist - I had a yeast infection (fucking antibiotics) and something known as LGSIL - a low grade lesion. This can be caused by HPV. I got the Guardasil shot series after breaking up with the first person I'd had sex with but Guardasil doesn't protect from all forms of HPV - or cervical cancer. Soooo there's that. Now I get to have a colposcopy (where they go in to the cervix with a flashlight and scalpel) and a biopsy. The chances of this being anything more than a random lump is super small, and it will very likely just go away on its own in a year or two. However, now I've had an abnormal PAP and need them every year rather than every two. It was weird though, hearing the doctor say the word cancer. She told me that most women don't know they have cervical cancer because there are no outward symptoms (I wouldn't have felt this lesion), which is why PAPs are so important.

The rest of the week was full of apartment hunting. One night we went to see a place in our second choice neighborhood, which was right by a dog park. Long-story-full-of-emails-back-and-forth-short: we loved it, applied for it and got it! Deposit is sent, lease is signed, and in a few weeks we'll be living together. I didn't expect the boyfriend to be as excited and enthusiastic about moving and living together as he's been since we got the official notice, because the next month or two are going to be much more complicated for him than they are for me. He owns his condo, which means he'll have to rent it out and all of the responsibilities that come with that. On the other hand, I'm super grateful that he's willing to do this to live with me and to live in an area that's close to my work. In the long run I believe it will be beneficial for us both (extra income and a shorter commute for him, an area I already love by work for me), but the initial effort is definitely more one sided.

Days after we got official notice of the new apartment I had my year review at my company. My boss shared with me his vision for the company, told me he wants to support those who share his vision (which I do completely), and gave me a huge vote of confidence in the form of a high profile client. After years of odd-jobs that were fun and other jobs that sucked, I'm so happy to be in a solid position in a company that is not just doing well but has plans for the future, and a company that has a future for me.

So, after more than a week of downs-that-weren't-that-bad, I had more than a week of ups-that-were-amazing. And the next month or two will certainly be stressful and life changing, but they'll also be exciting and happy. I can't wait.

A Leak

At the end of a week that just didn't want to give any breaks (and the end of 9 months of apartment issues), my apartment sprung a leak.

It was a Friday night, my mom was visiting, and we'd had sushi and wine. The boyfriend stood next to my bed and told me the floor was really warm. Unusually warm. I shrugged it off - my apartment is always unusually warm and there's a spot in the bathroom that's always really warm (the cat loves it). On Saturday night he goes to put on his pajama pants, but they're wet - and my carpet is wet. And very warm. And the legs on my wooden bookshelf have visible water damage. Excellent.

We slept on couches in the living room, the recent sinkholes in the news on our minds and the slight fear we'd wake up in a lake, but in the morning my room was still there and only slightly more damp. My apartment manager came over to inspect and let me know best and worst case scenarios, both of which included excavation. So Sunday night I took the cat to the boyfriend's, along with what I'd need for the next couple of days, and left my apartment.

This happened.

And this.

And this.

The water pipe for my whole complex, which traveled under the concrete in my room and through the footing of the whole building, had a leak. They had to shut off all water for two days and the hot water for one night, giving my neighbors zero notice. It's been 10 days and 11 nights so far for me - I stopped by almost every day to grab the mail and check up on things and ended up talking to the plumbers a few times; I learned this had happened before, apparently in the exact same spot. 

There is some discoloration next to the new concrete, which I think is the evidence of a past leak. Oh, and now I have to clean my tub because they turned on the faucet and it ran brown water and no one rinsed it out.

Also, there was a large dip in the asphalt in the alley, right behind my parking space, that had suddenly appeared. It was annoying but I hadn't paid much attention to it because the whole alley is in desperate need of repaving. But it was deep enough and at the worst angle for getting in and out of my spot that I was a little concerned I'd pop a tire. But no worries, now that's fixed.

My room? 

Still got that little hole. And this is the state of my furniture:

My bed is in three different parts, in three different parts of the apartment. 

This was taken the day after my apartment manager told me I could go back to my apartment. Um, no. Also, it still looks like this 9 days later.

It might come as little surprise, then, that I'm moving! The cat and I have been staying with the boyfriend and the dog for the last week and a half, and I kind of don't even want to go back. There is so much cleaning that needs to happen before I'll feel comfortable sleeping there again, and it'd be far too much effort to clean that much only to move in two weeks. But I will right my bed... it'll be harder to sell like that.

Why Interracial Marriage Should Be Legal

 This is what my Facebook looks like.

Oh wait, I mean gay marriage. You were probably thinking something along the lines of, "Whaaaaaat? But interracial marriage is perfectly legal! Why would anyone argue otherwise?"

Which is exactly my point. Why would anyone argue otherwise? Why wouldn't interracial marriage be legal?

So, what's the difference with gay marriage? Why would anyone argue that gay people can't marry one another? Why wouldn't gay marriage be legal?

As WTF as this seems now, it's the same thing.

Interracial marriage has been legal since the late 1960s. My parents were alive then. Alive and old enough to know what that meant. That's really not that long ago.

Maybe I'm spoiled having lived my whole life in relatively liberal Southern California, or maybe I'm just a young, flaming liberal who was ruined in college and now likes going against tradition for the sake of being rebellious. But I'm going to be able to marry my boyfriend, who is of a different race/ethnicity/color/whatever feature you want to focus on, and it'll be OK because he's also a different sex than I am. No one will bat an eye at our colors because it won't matter to anyone. 

Interracial marriage has been legal for 45 years; long enough for most people to accept that it is a little ridiculous to prevent two people who love each other from getting married just because they have different skin colors.

Beyonce is awesome.

Here are the most ridiculous arguments against gay marriage:

• Gay marriage is icky! (Gay people don't think so. Actually, a lot of people don't think so.)
• The Bible says gays shouldn't marry! (That's nice, but it has nothing to do with the law or my beliefs.)
• Once gays can marry, pedophiles can marry children! (Children are not consenting adults and therefore cannot make those kinds of decisions about their lives.)
• Once gays can marry, anyone can marry anything! (Dogs, inanimate objects, and anything outside of a consenting adult is, again, not a consenting adult and therefore cannot make those kinds of decisions about their lives/shelf lives.)
• Gays can't have kids! (Some straight couples can't have kids. Or don't want kids. That doesn't affect their ability to marry. Or adopt.)

Stunningly, our Supreme Court is dedicating an extraordinary amount of time debating whether or not laws that bar same sex couples from marrying is constitutional. Which seems really silly, doesn't it?

When the United States of America was in its infancy, all sorts of people came here from all over the world looking for freedom (in fact, they still do). They come here because the laws say "all people," "created equal," "liberty and the pursuit of happiness," and no where in any law, any proposition, any part of the Constitution say "except for." Nothing that says "except for gays." Or "except for [insert qualifier here]." It's equality this, and equality that, and freedom and liberty and opportunity and unalienable rights and blah blah blah.

So... since when is it OK to discriminate against gay people? When did that suddenly change? And why is this something that needs debate?

Have a gay day!

The Truth Behind Choice: Part 2

In my last post I wrote about two interviews on the 40th anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision; one with a woman who had an abortion and one with a woman who ran an anti-abortion pregnancy center

I admit that the interviewer, despite being on NPR Fresh Air, was asking very pointed questions at both women and she clearly had a bias. However, I will also say that it would be like interviewing an evolution-denier and trying to find legitimate questions... So I get it.

I remember hearing about the woman in the first interview, a journalist named Carolyn, when she had her abortion in 2011. She and her husband had wanted a second child, but got an abortion halfway through the pregnancy when it was discovered the fetus was severely deformed and would likely die. And while it's commendable that she's so open about her horrible experiences and willing to talk about them in order to change things, her situation is not the typical situation for women seeking an abortion. Medically necessary abortions are (almost) always given exceptions during debates about abortion, just like rape and incest: it's not the woman's fault that she needs one, so she should be allowed. But a woman who simply had sex and became pregnant, which I'd be willing to wager is the large majority of abortions, is something we're eager to debate for decades.

So few women who have gone through the abortion process are willing (or able) to be so vocal. Carolyn is able because she wanted her pregnancy, was hoping and trying for a baby and was crushed when she learned she would have to abort or condemn her child to a short life of suffering. Obviously hers was the logical, loving decision. But a woman who simply cannot afford to care for her baby, or who never wanted children and wouldn't make a good mother, or who isn't ready yet, or who just doesn't want the enormous responsibility of raising a human being is looked down upon as scum. We don't ask why women choose to have children, we just assume they should and that it's natural when they do. But it's the only thing a person will ever do that will forever alter their lives, and when half of all pregnancies are unplanned it seems it should be discussed a little bit more. I'd love for a woman to come forward in such a public manner and talk about her elective abortion. But I doubt that will ever happen.

There were a bunch of issues I had with the second interview, mostly because the interviewer was trying to get a straight answer on a few things and the woman, another Carolyn, was doing her best to paint her practice in the happiest of lights. Her pregnancy center, which counsels young girls and women on everything but abortion, advocates abstinence as the only way to prevent pregnancies. They will discuss other methods of birth control, even after a woman has given birth to her unplanned pregnancy, but tell her that they're not that good or don't do enough to prevent pregnancy. (As a woman who has relied exclusively on one method of birth control at a time for years and has had zero pregnancies I can tell you they work real well.) 

But to tell women they should only be having sex if they want to get pregnant is just ignoring reality, nature, and human habit. No one tells men that they shouldn't be having sex unless they want to get someone pregnant. Plus, these centers don't discriminate against married women, which means that even if you're married they'll tell you not to have sex with your husband unless you're trying to procreate. Which means sex once every few years until you want to stop having children, then no more sex until menopause. This is ridiculous. It stands to reason that if you're not planning on having children you should never have sex. And if you're never going to have sex or have children there's no point in getting married. Or dating. Or falling in love. 

I can't help but put myself in these situations in my mind and imagine being told these things. I don't want to have kids and I'm ill prepared to have one right now. Should I become pregnant now or in the next few years I would be unable to care for it financially, but also make too much money to qualify for assistance. Even if I were poor enough to qualify for government care, telling me I should have a baby because I'd get food stamps is ridiculously irresponsible. Plus, I do want to get married. Just because I don't plan to reproduce doesn't mean I don't deserve to spend my life with someone I love. I thought the point of marriage was to commit your life to another person that you're deeply in love with, not to lock someone else into parenthood.

So, it seems like we're still running in circles around somewhat ridiculous arguments around abortion. Until politicians and ideologists realize that everyone has sex, including the politicians and the ideologists, we can make better decisions about abortion, child care, and health care in general. But until then it looks like we're stuck telling women to stop being whores for sleeping with their husbands and boyfriends. Like normal goddamn people.

Ditching The Hormones

The last few years have not been kind to my hormones, so I've decided to protest. 

In an experiment of sorts I'm giving up hormonal contraception. Other than keep me baby-free it hasn't really been helping. I've felt... off... using it lately. I know I'm just on the wrong one because when I was using a different type I felt great and used it even when I didn't need to, but after trying a few of the wrong ones I'm just sick of trying. I know how I feel and act when I'm not using them, so it's time for a good long break.

I took a very brief break a year and a half ago planning for it to be 6 months or so (or maybe even longer), happy to reset my body and give it a rest. Then I met the boyfriend and, well, back to the pills I went (and was incredibly happy to do so). While each type of hormonal contraception has been excellent at doing its number 1 job - keeping me from getting pregnant - they've been using shady tactics to do so. So fuck you, hormones, I'm done.

There is a downside to giving up the pills (or rings, as of late): I'm down dependent on condoms. You know who loves condoms? No one. But now they're necessary again and that's something we need to think about ahead of time and remember. The idea is that this will be a small price to pay, but only time will be able to tell that. 

HA!

The super-awesome-couldn't-be-greater news is that I now officially have health insurance. And my employer pays for it. And contraception, wellness visits (gyno exams), and contraceptive devices are free. Hooooooraaaaaaaaay! The plan seems to have adopted the contraception part of ObamaCare already (a year before it had to, go them) and made it free for us working women. Halle-fricken-luja. Seriously I was so excited when I found that out. Oh, and I can get my tubes tied for free. Free.

So when I'm ready to discuss regular/semi-permanent/ permanent methods of birth control I'll have any option I want and I'm so excited. I can go back to the specific pill that worked for me, I can get an implant, I can get a little snip and be worry free forever. 

It's hard enough physically and emotionally to talk with nurses about how different pills totally fuck with you, spend months on each option to give it a chance to work, and feeling bad the whole time because you know that's not how you normally are. Having options, free options, makes a huge difference. I wish the male birth control pill would be out already so at least I could share the burden... 

Dear Allie

My favorite.

Dear Allie,

I get it. And I'm really sorry that I get it because I didn't get it for so long (and there's a lot of other things that I don't get). 

It is disappointing to feel sad for no reason. And I imagine it doesn't help when people tell you how awesome you are all the time. In fact, it probably makes you feel like you shouldn't feel sad, especially for no reason, which makes you sadder. Or more sad. Because that's the correct way to say that. Goddamnit.

I don't know anything about you other than what you've posted on your blog. And perhaps Google+, because I found that profile the other day and stalked you a little bit. But I very much enjoyed your blog. It seems like you and I created our blogs for very similar reasons... although yours was consistently funnier and had more pictures  (and a cult following... if I have that no one's told me). 

You could have a great job where people like your work and your personality. You could live in a destination city where the weather is perfect for most of the year and the landscape is beautiful no matter what. You could have (and probably do, if I recall that you have a fiance) the most wonderful person in your life who gives you space and cuddles when you need them. But you still get sad for no fucking reason. And it's awesome.

The good news, for me at least, is my sadness is only in passing. And it's definitely not the debilitating version you got. I've been reading psychology articles (for work) and the back of my brain is trying to self diagnose the rest of my brain, without my permission and even though I'm 99.9% sure there's nothing diagnosable about my brain. It's like when you hear the symptoms of a deadly disease that only occurs in one tribe somewhere in Africa and you think "I coughed last week! I have the plague!" and start planning your obituary. Except less extreme. I also have been fighting with hormones for months (well, years, really) and I'm convinced those boogers just like to fuck with you. Birth control is by design supposed to make it possible to have sex and not get pregnant (and various other medical benefits). Some  types make women not want to have sex. At all. Which is fantastic birth control. I, however, have a secret weapon that my birth control is perhaps not prepared for, and that's a ridiculously sexy boyfriend. I usually win that battle. But I don't appreciate there being a battle in the first place. And although she's cuddling one arm at this very moment, making me get creative to type, the cat has been ignoring me almost completely. And it's not like she's a dog, where I could be annoyed or worried by her ignoring me, or even a particularly nice or social cat. She's a very stereotypical cat who hates pretty much everything, especially me. It doesn't help that I made her spend a week with a bunch of dogs. Oh, and my skin is trying to attack me.

You'll never see this, Allie, but I feel better having told you, kind of. I wish good things for whatever is going on with you and should you come back to the internet and give more pictures of your dog and the silly things that happen I wouldn't mind. 

Until then, I get it.

Lindsay

One Is Not Like The Other: Part 3

Kids are not animals. Or property.

Doggies!

The boyfriend and I took the dog to the dog park in Balboa Park on the first day of the year (happy new year!) and boy was it packed. There were dozens of dogs of all sizes and even more people wandering around. There were balls being thrown and caught, games of chase being played, and everyone - dog and person - was in a good mood. 

The boyfriend and I couldn't help laughing at the dogs standing around us: a great dane puppy who took a liking to Argo, little fuzzy somethings running around and yapping, pretty collies pausing mid-air catching a ball. We talked about our weird relationship with these animals, and wondered to ourselves how anyone could not love a dog. Which is the same thing some people wonder when we say we don't want kids. 

But how could anyone not want kids? What will you do with your lives without kids? How will you spend your money and your time without kids? How will you spend your evenings at home without kids? 

But you could replace the word kids in each of those questions with the word dogs. And I'm positive I'll be a million times happier. 

Look how happy and excited they are for a tiny treat!

Here are some differences between kids an dogs:

• I can pick out my dog. I can't pick out my kid.
• I don't have to get pregnant and fat to get a dog and it will cost waaaaaaay less to adopt a dog than a kid.
• The baby stage for puppies is a lot shorter and I can get to the good stuff way quicker.
• Dogs can be trained much faster and more effectively than kids.
• Dogs don't go to college. Or ask for cars. But they do drive! 
• A dog will always be happy to see me. A kid will sometimes be happy to see me.
• I can leave my dog with a sitter and go on vacation without hearing "you never take me anywhere - I hate you!"
• A dog will go running with me, happily. I don't know that a kid will want to once it's old enough to keep up. And if it does it will likely outpace me.

At least she can't verbalize her hatred for me.

Here are some reasons why I highly, highly doubt my thoughts on kids will change:

• When I see pictures of new babies, or see new babies in person, my thought is "oh, that's nice," or "that's a baby," or "I know I'm supposed to express happiness for you, but that's a weird looking kid." (I'm all ooohs and aahhs when it's baby animal pictures.)
• I know I'm going to be a big grumpy pants for 9 months if I get pregnant. And then again for the first several months to the first years of my baby's life.
• Babies smell. And not in a good way. And baby powder is gross.
• I've been around dogs and cats (and rats and rabbits and birds) long enough to know when something's wrong, and I know to trust the vet if it gets to that point. I wouldn't know why a baby just sits there and cries. All. God. Damn. Night. (I had colic... I can only imagine my mother's sanity.)
• I get cranky when I'm tired and hungry and parents are frequently tired and hungry.
• Having a house full of small dogs all trying their not-hardest to get along was not frustrating. Sleeping with the boyfriend and a dog and a cat in a small bed was a little frustrating. But if the house had been full of small children and we couldn't sleep because there was a crying baby I'd have had so much more alcohol.
• My wonderful boyfriend is on board with the dog train, but not on board with the baby train.

But what if I change my mind? Well, since the rest of the world is convinced that will happen within 3 years, I'll address that: 

1. If I do suddenly change my mind and decide I absolutely have to have children, I hope someone asks me if that's what I really, really want. Having gone so many years not wanting children, wouldn't it be a little weird to suddenly change my mind and want an entirely different lifestyle?  It would be like someone wanting their whole lives to go on missionary assignments around the world then suddenly changing their mind at 30 and taking a desk job in finance.
2. If I am to suddenly change my mind I hope that happens before I marry someone who doesn't want kids. Otherwise hello divorce. 
3. To address the scenario that I unintentionally become pregnant and can't bring myself to abort or give it up for adoption (because seriously... foster care?), that's my choice and one I would hope my partner would agree with. However, this doesn't change the fact that I will spend the rest of my childbearing years trying my damndest to not become pregnant in the first place.

For funzies, here is Part 1 and Part 2.

Teaching For The Money

Because I wanted to post a cat picture, and this was highly relevant.

How many teachers do you know? How many teachers do you know who got into teaching because it paid well? How many teachers do you know who got into teaching because making a difference in kids lives and doing something worthwhile was important to them?

I know several teachers and not one of them got into it because it would make them rich. Sure, regular vacations was appealing, especially to those who want kids (making it easier to have a career and kids). But my teacher friends figured they'd have about enough to get by - maybe their spouses would have higher earning careers so they could afford the kids they wanted.

My teacher friends paid their own money to go through a credential program in order to teach the children of their communities. And they do it while paying down the loans they took to get their Bachelors and their credentials (and some their masters), making just enough money do do so and pretend to be middle class, and if they put in enough time they'll get a nice teaching position in a school close to their homes and have their loans paid off and be able to lead nice, modest lives.

But what is the first thing on the chopping block every time we have budget issues? Teachers. School supplies. Even the number of days our kids are in school. And how does this help? It gives teachers fewer earning days a year, lessening their salaries by hundreds or thousands, which means they have less money to spend on their kids or their classrooms (a lot of teachers use their own money to buy classroom supplies), less money to spend improving our economy. It also means parents of kids have to spend more money on daycare or more time bribing others to watch their kids or take more time off work (days they don't earn money) to keep their kids occupied. Each day a parent doesn't earn money is less money the family has to spend on the economy, and each paycheck that goes to daycare is less money on other things. How this will help our economy in the long run is something that I've yet to understand.

Politicians have all but accused teachers of not being altruistic enough when they protested budget cuts. Every year hundreds of teachers (whole school systems) receive layoff notices, putting hundreds of people out of work. Many of these teachers regain their jobs or find new jobs in other districts, but the stress that ensues means they stash away any extra cash they might have, stopping it from reentering the economy. Politicians stop just short of saying our kids' education isn't important, teachers should just be happy to be influencing the next generation, and there are more important things than school. 

But what happens when these same teachers lay down their lives - literally - for their students? What happens when teachers hide their kids from a gunman, saving them, and lose their lives for their efforts? All we can do is call them heroes. But in 6 months when we're still having budget issues these teacher's colleagues will be on the chopping block. Again. Because we have no other way to thank them. 

Perhaps it's time to start rethinking our values as a country. Maybe the second amendment isn't as important as the value we place on education from a young age. Maybe a defense budget isn't as important as widespread physical and mental health care. Maybe we should commit to short term sacrifices for the long term good. Or maybe I'm just a liberal woman who doesn't know anything.

Feeling Like A Child

Childhood relics at your parent's house can set a person back.

There's an article in Cosmo magazine (I know, I know, but my littlest sister pointed it out [who is their demographic, after all] and it wasn't awful) offering advice for those with emotional distress when home for the holidays. It was targeted at the young adults who are newly into their adult lives: out of college, in big kid jobs with big kid responsibilities and lives, who suddenly feel like children as soon as they're back in their teenage rooms and being chauffeured in the back seat of mom and dad's car. 

This article was pointed out to us because it's my sister's way of telling us that she feels like we treat her like a child, and not like the young adult with responsibilities that she is. She's never been one to openly discuss her feelings, so just showing us an article in a magazine is an invitation to talk about it. 

So we talked about it. Not with her, of course, because we're a normal dysfunctional family. Amongst ourselves, though, yes. We discussed what she might be feeling, what she might want us to do, what we might be doing that is causing her to feel like we see her as a child. And we pointed a lot of fingers. OK, I did a lot of the finger pointing.

I haven't felt like a child when visiting back home in a few years. But I did feel like that when I was my sister's age. And I do feel like that at my boyfriend's parents' house. Not because they treat me like a kid, or treat him like a kid, not at all. In fact they treat us both like adults. And not because of the way they talk to either of us. But I do feel like a kid when we have to sleep in different rooms. 

To be perfectly fair, I fully understand that this is a their-house-their-rules type of situation and I would never, ever say a word (hope they don't find this); and it's not like we're married or engaged or even living together (though I seriously hope one of those things would cause the room situation to change). But my boyfriend, their son, is 30. We're in a serious enough relationship that we're taking each other to our respective families for the holidays. And I'm pretty sure they're both aware we spend the majority of our nights together. But I sleep in the room next to the master and he sleeps in a room on the other side of the house. And I feel like I'm 17 who needs to be stopped from doing naughty things with her boyfriend rather than an adult in a totally normal adult relationship.

The Cosmo article also touched on dealing with family opinions and beliefs that may be different from yours, giving changes in religious and political beliefs as an example. Having to sleep in a different room is conforming to a belief that I don't share. While this is a more extreme example from the annoying-but-harmless dinner table discussions about who voted for who the magazine was hinting at, the feeling is there. You don't want to say anything and start something (especially in my family...), but the article pointed out that if you don't speak up your family won't learn who you are as a new young adult. This is easily my sister's largest issue: blame it on the divorce, but both of my sisters are massive people pleasers who will do anything to avoid a fight and anything to make everyone else happy. This  means repressing a lot of their own feelings and emotions, which is also not healthy. 

If the holidays make you stressed out (and I think most people feel some stress during this time), do what you can for yourself. Take a step back, distance yourself if you have to, and remember that you can't control how other people react or feel. I was reminded that these situations are a two way street, and that each person has to give a little to get somewhere. Myself included.

Letting A Piercing Close Up

Right after I got my 6th piercing

Over a year ago I went with my sisters to get our ears pierced, me taking the next step towards having 7 piercings. I chose to pierce the middle of my left ear which only had the lobe pierced from when I was 11, sorta evening out my ears in a very uneven way. 

At the time I was really excited about it (even though the shop itself was a bit too shady...) and it didn't feel any worse than any other piercing I'd ever gotten. But it ended up getting a slight infection and I had to use saline solution for a lot longer than usual, but then it got better.

The earring was a bit bigger than the other cartilage piercing I have, something I didn't notice at the time. So a month ago, when my newest piercing got suddenly swollen and painful, I took out the earring and put in my smaller one. It felt great and the hole started to close around the smaller earring. Success!

And then yesterday it swelled up again and was immensely painful. Goddammit. 

It throbbed and itched and huuuuuurt to touch. The boyfriend's advice was to stop poking holes in my ears and they wouldn't hurt. My mom's advice was to stop getting piercings. I started to think they might be right, so I took out the earring. 

It was disgusting. I won't go into detail here but it was super gross. On the upside, after taking the earring out and cleaning the piercing it felt way better. So I've decided to let it close up. I'll settle for 5 good, healthy piercings and not worry about having 7 like I originally wanted. And when it comes down to it that piercing was not my favorite anyway, so it's better to sacrifice that one and keep the ones I love.

And,  you know, keep a healthy ear.

What Thanksgiving Used To Mean

For a client, I wrote a blog post on fatty Thanksgiving foods after being inspired by one of the most disgusting food videos I've ever seen. (Blog post is here. :) )

I thought it'd be a great topic for the week before Thanksgiving, but when I was doing my research on the fattiest Thanksgiving foods, the only things showing up in search was low-cal Thanksgiving recipes. My searches for "fattiest Thanksgiving recipes" and "high calorie Thanksgiving foods" turned up articles on a lighter Thanksgiving, a low-cal Thanksgiving, and advice on how to not overdo it during the holiday. 

What happened? Why are we now obsessed with making lighter dishes on Thanksgiving, the one day of the year we celebrate our abundance of food? It's because Thanksgiving is no longer the one day of the year we have more food than we know what to do with. We regularly over-indulge, regularly eat beyond being full, and regularly feel sick from too much food. 

Now, the internet is full of Thanksgiving recipes that teach cooks how to make the same dishes with fewer calories. Now, we're told to not put marshmallows on our sweet potatoes, skip the cream of mushroom and fried onions on the green beans, bake potatoes rather than mash them with butter and cream, and skip the bread and rolls. 

I know I'm being a bit of a hypocrite when I say this, especially since running a blog called We Should Be Fat, but I wouldn't mind going back to when giant meals were a special occasion. I wouldn't mind us, as a country, enjoying our meals for what they are, and knowing what they are. We should put some butter and cream in our mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving and enjoy them without worrying about how many miles we'll have to run to work it off, but we should be far more sensible about how we eat on a more regular basis. 

Louis C.K. says the meal is not over when he's full, it's over when he hates himself. And it's funny because it's true for a lot of us. (He also says he runs 5 miles every other day to keep up "this shitty body.") We eat, and then we keep eating until our bodies tell us we're full, and then we feel like absolute shit 20 minutes later, when those last few helpings have settled in. And it's not like we're shoveling in vegetables... we're eating meat at every meal, often with bread, followed up with sweets. And we wonder why there's an obesity crisis.

I was a supporter of Prop 37 that would have required the labeling of genetically modified foods because I saw it as a step in the right direction. We have no idea what we're eating, partially because we don't read the nutrition labels to know what actually comprises those frozen chicken nuggets and partially because a simple ingredient like corn (which is in fucking everything - go look) is comprised of a number of new chemicals that aren't listed. We're eating more, enjoying food less, and suffering because of our over abundance. Our farm animals get the vast, vast majority of our antibiotics (not because they're sick, either), we're polluting our country and other countries laugh at us because of our food habits.

If we don't go full steam ahead with every meal and regret the vast majority of what we eat, we can enjoy what we eat more and worry about it less. We can let Thanksgiving go back to what it used to be - a day to be thankful for what we have, which in this country is more often than not an abundance.

Calm The Fuck Down

This is what I need to tell myself on a far more regular basis.

And possibly post more anteater pictures...

Anyone reading this somewhat regularly since... well, I started, knows that I was loosely diagnosed with eczema. I'm still not 100% convinced this is what it is, especially since my symptoms are pretty much all wrong. The only thing that still makes it look and act like eczema is the all over itchy rash that makes me want to claw my skin off.

Anyway, I've discovered that whatever it is is stress induced. I've been to Planned Parenthood a few times this year alone issues that could be tied to whatever skin rash I have. The last time I went she asked me if I felt stressed or worried in my relationship (resounding no) or in life. I said, "well, I'm always stressed," in a nonchalant, this-is-typical-for-me way. Because it's true. There's always fucking something.

This time I've got it pared down: started a new job (3 month probationary period, looking at it like an extended interview, trying to be the best); sometimes I feel totally overwhelmed in my new job because I'm surrounded by some really smart people who know what they're doing and who are giving me very real responsibilities; some jackwad ran into my car and caused me $800 worth of repairs that my full coverage insurance won't cover; and the cherry on top is some other jackwad stuck a business card on my car window which slipped into the door frame as I rolled the window down because I didn't notice until it was there until it was too late. Boom, stress rash. And then I freak the fuck out and try to figure out if it is in fact eczema by looking at photos and descriptions online, which just makes me itch more.

But I honestly shouldn't be that stressed, definitely not enough to cause a rash to break out on my arms and legs. I did just get back from a very lovely vacation; I'm very happy in my job and mostly unworried about the probationary period because they seem to like me a bunch and the fact that they are giving me big responsibilities is telling; even though I sometimes feel overwhelmed the very next day I feel like I have a handle on things and that I'm just as smart as my coworkers; I can afford my car repairs (I'm just mad that I have them); taking on a very small bit of debt when I have a steady income shouldn't freak me out.

HA!

The vast, vast majority of my worry and stress stems from money (thanks, mom and dad). I know what makes me happy and I've pretty much got everything I need and want: my cat who sometimes loves me, a job that fulfills me, a boyfriend who adores me, an apartment I'm going to be sad to leave, a roommate I'm friends with, an easy 10 minute walking commute, a neighborhood and city I belong in, and dozens of opportunities every week to satisfy my little desires. But I just wrapped up debt and started to save up for things I want, rather than just the things I need, before being unemployed for a brief period, which added to a vacation did give me back some credit card debt, which I had been happy to be rid of. Add to that my new car repairs and the car insurance I still haven't finished paying off (all thanks to timing) and I've got myself some saving to do. Plus, there are the things I've wanted for a long time that I would much rather not postpone anymore: a new bed, my own apartment, and (maybe) an iPhone. As long as I wait until mid-November and know I'm secure in my position I think it'd be OK to take on a little debt (famous last words, right?). Fortunately, I make enough to save that money in a few months as long as I stick to the frugal lifestyle I adopted in college and never really grew out of. By the new year I should be debt free again and able to start saving for my next vacation, build up a security savings for when the next something happens (because it always does), and start paying down my car faster.

And in the meantime, tell myself to just calm the fuck down. I got this. I really do.

People Are Jerks

You don't even really notice it...

I left my car in a Costco parking lot for about ten minutes the other day and came back to a gaping dent in the bumper. At first I thought I went to the wrong car, because my little silver hatchback can be easily confused with any other of the half dozen hatchback style cars out there right now... but no, the spot was mine, that was my license plat, that's my car with the fat dent.

My heart just sank. I bought this car in December brand new, not a scratch on it. Nine months to the day later and someone hits it, hard, and just drives off leaving me with an unmissable hole in my car. And as you can see, I'm not exaggerating the size of this dent. Sure it's in the bumper, probably the cheapest part to replace, and sure the bumper is meant to take a beating like that, but it's still going to cost me a grand to replace, money I just don't have right now and won't have for another month or two. Which means no new bed for my birthday, second year in a row, because something else came up. 

Because it happened in a Costco parking lot (which also had an IKEA and a Lowe's), and the size of the dent makes me think it was someone with an SUV or truck, I would find it very hard to believe that this person did not have the means to pay for the damage they caused. They probably didn't even look before driving away, just hit and run and hope no one saw or whoever did see won't say anything (which is exactly what happened in a rather busy Costco parking lot on a holiday weekend afternoon), but if they had looked they'd have seen a very new, very economy car with a dent that will most certainly not be missed. 

Earlier that morning I took my car in for an oil change, tire rotation and wash at the dealership, taking care of it after a grueling road trip of over 2,000 miles. And the universe repaid my little car with a rear-ending. It's a day later and I'm still fuming mad over it (if that's not coming through already). My insurance deductible is $1,000 so I'll be footing this bill myself, unless it happens to cost more than that, which I kind of doubt. 

Oh yeah, and they scratched the fuck out of it, too. Real nice.

I suppose I am lucky that my car wasn't hit hard enough to push it into the truck my car was facing in its parking spot, and this asshat didn't cause more damage. And I suppose I'm somewhat lucky that I wasn't in the car to experience whiplash and have neck or back pain for days or weeks, still without insurance, and still not be able to catch who did it. But those are very small condolences.

In my anger and frustration at whoever was so irresponsible to put that big of a dent in a car without leaving a note, I made a post to Reddit asking people to please be responsible when driving; if you're on the phone or not paying attention or speeding or whatever, just take responsibility for when you fuck up and don't leave someone else to clean up your mistake. The response I got was not supportive (though maybe that's my fault for expecting support from the internet)... one person even said they wouldn't claim responsibility because the person would just say the damage was worse than it was and try to fuck him over. So, whoever this is would just drive around, hit other cars, and leave them to deal with it, because he has a life savings that he worked hard for and he's not going to let anyone take it from him. It'd be nice if I had a savings to take from to pay for this... but now I'll just have more debt instead. I'm not letting this dented bumper sit until I have the money - I promised I'd take better care of this car and I will. It's not my fault I have this new expense considering I wasn't even in the car when it happened, but now it's my responsibility to keep my new car looking and running the best it can.

Thanks, society. I was just starting to say nice things about you, too.

Kicked Out Of A Hotel

It was surprisingly nice and I'd have enjoyed paying for a second night.

The last two nights of our week-long road trip we planned to spend in a hotel in Oregon, where we were attending my cousin's wedding. The location was a very small (like, 4 square blocks) tourist and vacation place with a smattering of hotels. Being the slackers we are, we didn't book until the week before and the first couple of places (which were super cute and super cheap) were all booked up. 

Fortunately, the Best Western in the next little town had a room, and they had free breakfast. So we booked it. Our stay was for Friday and Saturday nights; we checked in Friday afternoon, after a night of camping and a very long drive. We were actually very pleased with the room. It had a king size bed which was comfortable and clean, a nice view of a some cows by a creek, and was spacious. It even had a pull out couch, microwave and fridge. 

Friday night was a great night. We showered and changed clothes, then headed out to find lunch (went to an awesome little fish and chips place literally on the dock) and met up with my cousins. We got back pretty late, crawled into bed and turned on a movie. The next morning we went down for some passable eggs and a decent waffle and were back in the room by 10am. We ran into housekeeping, who asked if we were checking out and we told them we had another night. We lounged in the room the rest of the day, watching movies and taking our time getting ready. We left at 2:45 to drive the 4 miles to the wedding location, all dressed up and dapper, and didn't return to the hotel  until 11:30.

And our room keys didn't work. I thought they'd been deactivated because they were scanning red immediately, so we headed to the lobby. I told the girl at the front desk, who happened to be the same one that checked us in the day before, that our keys didn't work, thinking she'd just assign new ones. Instead, she said, "Yeah, we checked you out. You only booked one night."

Uh, no.

I pulled out my phone while she looked up the paperwork I signed Friday (with my initials next to the check-out day and my signature at the bottom) to show her my confirmation email. Sure enough, two nights. She had found my paperwork by then and right on the front page, next to my initials, was our check-out day of Sunday. Not Saturday.

She was a little apologetic, but not what I would have expected from someone who had two guests thrown out of their rooms. She told us she wasn't the one there that afternoon and mentioned something about telling whoever was there that they needed to get all guest phone numbers, which they didn't do with me. To top it all off, they had removed all of our things (clothes, toiletries, computer, camera, camera equipment) for us, placed them in trash bags in an unlocked cabinet in the lobby, and gave our nice room away to someone else (which means that when we were jiggling the handle and retrying the keys a bunch of times there was a couple in there who were probably terrified... and if they'd looked out the eyehole they'd have seen what they assumed to be either drunk kids at the wrong room or a black guy and some girl trying to rob them). 

So, at nearly midnight, we were without a hotel room. Turns out there was one room left, but only because whoever had booked it hadn't shown up yet. The girl had no choice but to give it to us, and unfortunately we had no choice but to take it. It had two queens (measly fulls) and was a smoking room. It was disgusting. It was smaller than our other room, the bathroom was difficult to work with two people, and wasn't anywhere near as nice as the room we'd been kicked out of. And everything smelled like smoke! I couldn't believe it. The girl offered it to me at a $30 discount "for my inconvenience."

Somehow the boyfriend was able to keep it together, which stopped me from either bursting into tears with anger and frustration or screaming at the front desk girl. I was beyond furious. When we got into our smelly room we talked about the situation as we went through our bags to make sure nothing was missing (the food we'd left in the room was lost and I can't find a sweater, but I'm not entirely sure I can blame them since I thought I checked for it). The boyfriend could see my anger and I could feel his... they really needed to make this right. While we were still good and angry we got on social media and wrote scathing reviews, although our anger at the situation has yet to subside.

In the morning we went down to the lobby to CHECK THE FUCK OUT LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE,  and there was a different front desk attendant. She knew exactly who we were when we walked in. 

"We got our room switched on us last night."

"I know." She was obviously embarrassed and ashamed. She shook her head and could almost not even say she was sorry.

"Look, I don't want to pay for that room."

"OK. That's absolutely fine." She came just short of saying we shouldn't have to. It was a huge relief to get such an understanding woman. She seemed truly dumbfounded by the situation and could not even believe it had happened.

While she worked to delete my credit card information from my file (my card had already been charged for the first night when they checked us out), the boyfriend got us some coffee from the breakfast area. The woman could tell we were itching to go and couldn't get the computer to cooperate, so we left with a signed statement that the room was free of charge.

The part that confused me the most, which this woman brought up, was that housekeeping or whoever did the checking out had decided to check us out, go through the room and pack up all our stuff without checking the paperwork sitting right in the drawer. They took the effort to do all that work when a quick trip to the lobby and a look in the file drawer would have cleared up the whole thing and we'd have never been kicked out. Obviously we thought we'd booked a second night because we left all of our stuff strewn about the room in absolutely no attempt to pack up, and we'd left several thousand dollars worth of computer and camera equipment in the room, which no one would leave behind. Furthermore, check-out was at 11am, and we were in the room from 10am to almost 3pm, a good 4 hours after we should have vacated the room, and no attempt was made to contact us. The staff could have called the room at 11am to verify we were checking out, they could have come up to the room at any time, they could have looked in the parking lot to see if my car was there, they could have emailed me, or they could have talked to the housekeeping staff who we told we had another night. Some person at the hotel got it into their heads that we were checking out on Saturday and didn't bother to do any verification whatsoever when they realized we clearly had no intention of checking out. They just did it for us anyway.

As of writing this, I'm monitoring my credit card account to make sure the pending charge doesn't go through and am in contact with Best Western to get a full refund. They're lucky nothing happened to our equipment when they removed it from our room and they're lucky we're nice people. I should say they're lucky my boyfriend is the nice one, because I was all ready to show my anger and make some serious demands.

The most disappointing thing is that this is now the first thing that comes up when we talk about our trip. Neither of us had ever heard of this happening before (the boyfriend's dad travels frequently for work and he'd never heard of it), and we'd had such a nice stay Friday night, which made it feel even more ruined. We looked at the photos as they uploaded to his computer, saw the picture of the room from when we first got in, and both said, "awww" sadly. Things had been going so well up to that point, making that disappointment a little bit worse.

Needless to say, if either of us stay in a Best Western again it'll probably be because it's a last resort. If there's any other option I know I'll be staying in any other hotel in the future.