Delicious Spam I Have Enjoyed

In response to my relationship post, I received this comment, "Thank you so much for sharing it.Kamagra is one of the most popular Erectile Dysfunction medications. Kamagra affects the muscles lining the blood vessels in the penis causing more blood to stay in the penis when sexually stimulated. This helps men to maintain an erection."

Beautiful.

In Support of NOPWAD, a Fabulous New National Organization!

I wish I could claim responsibility for coining the term NOPWAD, the National Organization for People Who Advocate the Divorce (of their Mutual Friends Who Obviously Hate Each Other But Stay Together For Religious / Social Reasons), but sadly I am not that funny. I saw it in the comments section of an article about NOM's (National Organization for Marriage) Creepy Summer bus tour, and laughed my ass off.

From NOM's blog site:

"We have a right to vote for marriage. And we are going to fight for our rights—and, most importantly, for our children’s right to grow up in a country where God’s truth about marriage trumps political correctness and judicial tyranny! We’re here, we support marriage, we’re not going anywhere!. . . This is a chance to meet others who share our deepest values; to identify, energize and equip fellow activists; and to send a powerful message to elites who pretend that Americans don’t care about this issue. If they can isolate us, they can intimidate us. But the people united cannot be defeated!"

Sigh. What to say, really? "Supporting" marriage means being anti-gay? Gay marriages are somehow different than heterosexual marriages? If you're for strengthening marriages, why not let people who made the choice to get married stay married? I have a really hard time understanding exactly what NOM's premise is.

This Is What A Relationship Looks Like: Sex With Others Edition

Do other couples do this? YG and I were lying around, discussing what other actors and actresses we thought were hot and who we would have sex with if they were right there, you know, in our bed, kind of like the Friends laminated list.

Our lists are pretty pathetic, and it took a lot of conversation and google searching to figure them out. YG's were Carrie Byron (the girl from Mythbusters), Scarlett Johanssen and Jennifer Aniston. With prompting from me, he also decided on Christina Hendricks, but only when I reminded him that she was the hot redhead on Mad Men. For me, he asked me to choose between Brad Pitt and George Clooney, and I said that Clooney wins that one every time, although Brad Pitt got infinitely hotter than his boring blonde midwestern thing when he took up with Angelina Jolie, who is also on my list. Then he asked, "Clooney or Leo?" And really, is that even a question? LEO. Who's hotter than Leo, and we all know that my answer would be Jon Stewart because he is the hell of funny and that always trumps hot. And Denis Leary, just because.

And then, the following conversation ensued:
JM: This is a pretty paltry list. I mean, we're Google image searching "hot people."
YG: Yeah, and I don't even know who half these hot people actually are.
JM: Ditto.
YG: Problem is that even if I wanted to have sex with any of my people, I would want you there too.
JM: That's sweet. I don't even really think about having sex with my people.
YG: What do you think about?
JM: I mean, I don't know. I'd want them to think that I was all hilarious and smart and then notice my giant boobs. I got issues, man. Like, if Leonardo DiCaprio was here, right now, naked, in bed, I'd probably be telling him stupid jokes. Like, even in my fantasies, I'm not hot. But I am really, really funny.
YG: Even in your fantasies, you're fat.
JM: Now see, THAT's funny.
YG: Exactly.
JM: I think I need to blog this now because it's kind of funny and I won't remember it tomorrow.
YG (recapping entire conversation with editorial notes): Go write!

Sabotage or Stupidity: You Decide -- Or How I Didn't Meet Mary Karr

Mary Karr did a reading at Harvard Bookstore Monday night. How did I know this? Well, it's been on my calendar for about a month and a half now, and I had sketched out an elaborate fantasy in my head about how I was going to go there and get over my fear of "networking" and I'd talk to her and she would think I was witty and funny, and we'd chat about Syracuse and our dealings with AA and wasting time in marketing jobs and whatever, and I'd casually mention that I was a writer, and she'd be all, "oh, you're funny. I'd love to read your stuff," and so on. I rescheduled a bunch of weekend plans so that I could go to this reading, and YG agreed to babysit. And then....

I fucking FORGOT to go. I just forgot! I didn't even think about it until I got in to work yesterday morning, and I saw, "Mary Karr: Harvard Bookstore! YAY!" in big red ink on my desk calendar.

I'm sure a therapist could have a field day with this and all the self-sabotage angles, but for now, I'm going to take the higher road (eye roll) and chalk it up to stupidity. Maybe you don't like Mary Karr. She has her fair share of critics, but I have devoured everything she's ever written, most recently, Lit, and I was really looking forward to it. Damn it.

Well, at least I saw Rushdie that one time. This one time, at band camp. . .

I mean her butt, It's just so big, I can't believe it's so round, It's just out there: Or Cattiness and Why We Do It

Thank you, Sir Mix-a-lot, for not only one of the bestest songs evah, but also a perfect example of girl-on-girl cattiness. This topic was in an Already Pretty post today titled, "Why So Catty?" exploring why women's default settings seem to be set on being catty and being critical. Sal boils it down to self-centeredness and unexpressed aggression.

She says,

"Remember middle school? If you're anything like me, you'd rather have your hair set on fire than go back to that time, when we'd finally learned to be cruel, to humiliate each other publicly in the name of social status. And why did we do that? Because our bodies were changing, our world was shifting, it scared the shit out of us and, unlike boys, we weren't "supposed" to break stuff, beat each other up, or run around like hooligans to exorcise our fears. Now here we are and our bodies are changing, our world is shifting, it scares the shit out of us and ... we attack each other. It's a socially-sanctioned action for angry, confused women. Again, ineffective, destructive, and infantile. But it's what's expected of us."

The whole conversation, and the comments are really interesting.

I see this in all aspects of my life. In the business world, I see a lot of women knocking other women's choices so that they can get ahead -- we've all been told there's only room for so many women at the top, and we all want to be that woman. In my mommy world, what can I say about the so-called mommy wars that hasn't already been said? Look no further than the forums on mothering.com to see the grown up version of girl-on-girl hate. And in the blogosphere, in the fashion and fat acceptance blogs I follow, every so often an argument erupts that devolves into meanness and pettiness before the "sides" are even done making their opening statements. Why does this happen?

I'm sure there are numerous psychological reasons for this, but I know that my own cattiness is largely the insecurity flavor. When I feel bad about how I look, I am more judgmental and look around to try and find someone lower in the pecking order than me. As long as I am not the fattest, oldest, slowest, dumbest, whatever -est that's bugging me that day, I am okay, passable. When I feel guilty about being a work slacker, I find someone to pick on (in my head: I'm not that big of an asshole) who is a bigger fuck up than me. When I'm feeling guilty about my parenting, I try and find some example of somebody who is clearly deranged like a Susan Smith person, and think, "well, compared to that, letting Z eat Cheerios off the bathroom floor probably is not so bad in the grand scheme of things." And when I feel like I'm the shittiest wife ever, I remember the first Mrs. YG and make a mental list of reasons of why I am superior to her.

Maybe not everyone does this kind of shit, but I sure do, and it makes me feel like an asshole. And I never end up feeling better for that long. I end up feeling worse -- bad about whatever I was feeling bad about to begin with and even more bad for being immature and insecure.

On the flip side, when I am nice to myself, I am nice to others. I have long believed that I would never treat a friend as shitty as I treat myself, would never hold them to such impossible standards, and when I manage to give myself a break, I tend to appreciate everyone else around me too. Imagine that.

Today, or well the 2.5 hours left of today, I'm going to stop being so judgey.

4th of July Weekend in List Form

1. Two seven mile runs along the Charles
2. 100 miles on the bike for YG
3. One essay edited
4. One book nearly finished (reading, that is)
5. Two trips to JP Licks
6. One dinner on the porch
7. One nap on the blanket in our backyard
8. Mass meat consumption
9. Zygote's first turn on the Swan Boats
10. One fabulous view of the Esplanade from the Red Line
11. Zygote's first turn on the carousel at the Common, and a dip in Frog Pond

12. One happy birthday to my mom
13. One happy birthday to USA! USA!
14. One dip in the lake with Zygote
15. Two servings of homemade risotto
16. A beyond-count amount of Miller High Life
17. One concert: She & Him at House of Blues
18: Listening to She & Him album: multiple
19: Smiles: multiple
20: Rest: multiple

Another Non Expert (Read: Me) Weighs in on The BP Oil Spill

My opinion? The BP oil spill is all of our faults.

We're now going on to months (plural) of hearing about the barrels of oil that are spilling into the Gulf of Mexico. First, there were the stories about facts -- how events were unfolding and all the failed attempts at fixes. Then, we move on to the impact stories and the hearings on Capitol Hill and the congressmen looking very serious about getting answers. And now, of course, we're in the blame game portion of our news cycle. Depending on where you fall on the political spectrum, you can find a way to blame the spill on Obama, the Republicans, big corporations, greed, and I'm sure the Buchanans and the Robinsons and their ilk will somehow find a way to link this to the evil women and gays who God is punishing. If it wasn't so scary (HELLO, there is a ton of oil leaking into the environment!), the whole media routine would laughable. But it's not. It's predicatable.

We all want somebody to blame. But this is what happens when you keep trying to take, take, take from a finite resource. You hit a wall eventually. When you think you can continue to just steal and plunder natural resources for your own use and/or profit, without any thought or examination of the consequences, you (and I mean the big cultural 'you') are going to meet your match eventually. Naomi Klein (who is my girlfriend in my Second Life where we are a power lesbian couple fighting the man through great journalism) wrote about this recently in her Guardian column, Gulf Oil Spill: A Hole in the World. She writes:

"This Gulf coast crisis is about many things – corruption, deregulation, the addiction to fossil fuels. But underneath it all, it's about this: our culture's excruciatingly dangerous claim to have such complete understanding and command over nature that we can radically manipulate and re-engineer it with minimal risk to the natural systems that sustain us. But as the BP disaster has revealed, nature is always more unpredictable than the most sophisticated mathematical and geological models imagine. "

Look, I'm not a tree hugger. I drive a big car and I love my AC, and I don't use cloth diapers or compost. Sometimes I even forget to recycle. But as an individual, I try to offset what bad choices I make by making better choices in other areas -- using only energy efficient appliances, eating locally, not driving if I can walk or take public transportation, etc. Why is this so hard for corporations to do this? It's basic common sense -- you take, you give back.

Side note: You can spare me the profit arguments. In the case of the oil companies and drilling and needing new sources of revenue -- please. I feel fairly confident that the demand for oil is not going to demand anytime soon. You'll still get paid. Don't worry.

I find it disheartening that people are hoping to find someone to blame so that we can fix this issue quickly and move on to the next BIG THING to freak out about (is anyone still talking about Haiti? Or H1N1? Or whatever last year's crisis was?) We want this to pass too and go away. But there is no quick fix here.

For a first hand account of what's happening in the Gulf, go check out my friend, Terry's web page, describing what it was like to be back in his hometown in Louisiana and seeing how everyone has already been affected. People's whole way of life is disappearing, and there's really not a damn thing we're able to do about it.

So what to do? My woefully uneducated answers. In the near term, stop and contain the oil. I cannot believe this is even still an issue, but it is. Help the people who can't work and pay their claims. Long term, I can't think of a better example of why we need to either find renewable energy sources and more sustainable ways of doing business. And if I put on my "communications professional" hat, there needs to be a massive public education campaign around why this matters and how they are connected.

I’m Going Back to New York City…I Do Believe I’ve Had Enough

First it was Lou Reed. Now it’s Bob Dylan on repeat, and not a whole song, but just those New York City lyrics over and over.

I was back in Manhattan earlier this week for a business trip, and I cannot believe I am actually going to type these words – it was the first time in about two years that I was in the city. I’ve been in the Bronx for games and Brooklyn to visit friends and Staten Island to visit my dad at work, but everyone knows “the city” is Manhattan. And I was long gone from it.

Flying into LaGuardia, it’s hard not to be blown away from the view of the skyline. I’ve traveled all over, but New York’s skyline is still the most beautiful to me. You can see it from certain places in New Jersey, and as a kid (and teenager and college student and young adult), I always imagined myself living there. I was going to work at a coffee shop downtown during the day, and work on my novels at night. This gradually morphed into working at a magazine during the day, working at the same coffee shop (now shoppe and filled with eclectic New York characters) at night, and working on my novels in my free time. This vision was so prevalent and all-encompassing that I never really dreamt up an alternate plan, and that’s why you’ll still find me in my temporary career twelve years later. I was at an event with YG at MIT a few weeks ago, chatting with a few other PR people, and they nodded their head in recognition of this vision. One guy noted, “You don’t have to explain it to me. I majored in philosophy.”

I never did live in the city. I visited plenty, and I lived in my grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn for a few months, but I was a tourist, a bridge and tunneler. I am from that place that dare not speak its name.

Still, I always think of New Jersey and the city as “home.” I moved to Massachusetts four years ago, but I’ve never really referred to it as my home. My brother probably feels the same. Home is home, and that’s just the way it is.

But, dudes, New York City has CHANGED. I felt so discombobulated by some things. Times Square has been pedestrianized, and there’s talk of building more of those plazas elsewhere. We were staying in Union Square, and while that was exactly how I remembered it, right down to all the restaurants, our waiter told me that Union was going to be the next to be plaza-ed. We ate dinner at Spice Market in the meat packing district and while we were waiting for the rest of the team to arrive, my friend, L, and I sat outside on some benches watching locals and upscale suburbanites, enjoying the weather. I was stunned that we were sunning ourselves in the middle of an area that I remember being sort of a shit hole, and even more stunned after dinner, when we walked the High Line, the new-to-me public park built on a defunct railway between 10th and 11th Aves. It was a perfect night weather-wise, and I couldn’t believe I was sniffing flowers and lying on a chaise lounge in the middle of New York.

How to describe it? A deluge of different feelings. Amazement to see such a great use of public space. Relief that some places like Magnolia haven’t changed a bit. And a little bit of sadness that I am now more of a tourist than I ever was. I’m just a visitor. I get to appreciate everything the city has to offer, but as a pilgrim, not a dweller. That’s weird.

And then before I could let that sink in, I was back here. Back to my new home. I took a cab from the airport and we drove down Storrow Drive, watching all the sailboats and rowers on the Charles, with the runners and strollers on the Esplanade. They’re setting up for the 4th of July celebration, and I remembered last year, watching it from home, singing patriotic songs to my 3-week old baby. This is the only home she knows, will probably be my home for the foreseeable future, and I’m happy to be back.

And Lou Reed Was Playing In My Head On Repeat

Yesterday was the perfect day. A mid-year course correction. Since I went back to work, I have been using Writing Fridays for house-wifely items, and yesterday was the first time in a long while that I actually had the entire day to write. I had dropped off Zygote and got the grocery shopping done all by the time I usually get to work. I drove to Walden Pond, and alternated between reading and writing all day, only breaking to eat some fruit and swim for a half hour. I finished an essay, started another one and did some free-write exercises. Warm, freckly, perfect.

What I DO Give A Shit About

So yesterday was one of those days.


Image courtesy of Hyperbole and A Half

I was whining to a coworker about how I don't give a shit about technology and I don't give a shit about corporations and I don't give a shit about profit and loss unless it's my own and how really, I don't give a shit in general. Most of this was brought on by lack of sleep and watching the documentary, The Corporation, which was great, by the way, but not the right thing to watch when you are in a mood and feeling kind of ick about your place in the whole corporate world. Especially the segment on PR and all its YOU GET TO BE THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE CORPORATION YAY YOU stuff.

Anyway, it got me thinking about the key question in all that ranting and raving -- what do I actually give a shit about? So I made a list because that is what I do when I am feeling ick. A list of things that I get all frothy and passionate about.

Things JM Gives A Shit About In No Particular Order

* Zygote
* YG
* Family and friends
* FCC
* Women's Rights: yes, this is all encompassing but work/life balance, gender inequality, abortion rights, moms' rights, etc.
* Body Image
* The politics of health and fat/Health at Any Size/nutrition
* Running/exercise
* The corporatization of the whole fucking world
* Living Simply
* Parenting
* Fashion and style, and not in the New York Times way
* Literature -- mostly the reading of, not the critiquing of
* Music -- appreciation of, not making

These are the things that usually get me to stop and pay attention, and I'm not quite sure how to take the things I care about and turn them into something I can do for a living. I am good at my job, and I like the choices and flexibility it gives me on most days, but I'm never going to be GREAT at my job because in the end, I don't give a shit. I am not creating art in the world (and yes I know that sounds all 'I wear all black and care about womyn' but bear with me). I create spin, and while it's good, I'm just not sure it matters.

I thought it would be different when I moved to Massachusetts. While I have a number of reasons I publicly state for coming here, it really was a great escape and I did it because I wanted to change everything that wasn't working. For the most part, I did. I absolutely love where I live and I love my simplified lifestyle, and I can't figure out a way to say this that is not vomit-inducing, so I will just say that I absolutely love my husband. Those things are all GREAT. But I'm still struggling to figure out my place in the world. To figure out what I should be doing with all the immense privileges that I do have. I don't feel I put that privilege to good use, and right now, I want to be open to well, anything. I found myself recently journaling about "when we move to San Francisco..."(which wouldn't be until MG went to college anyway, so we're talking years), and all the escapist fantasies that come with that. And then I knew that it's time to stop fucking around and figure out how to make myself useful. Advice welcome.

Fun With Keywords (Or How You Find Me)

Google Analytics can be pretty addictive. I like to check in every once in a while to see what's going on and imagine who you, dear reader, actually are. I actually know some of you in "real" life, but I'm more curious about the folks that just lurk and read like I do on a good many people's blogs.

And oh my god, do I love the keywords!

The vast chunk of you get here by searching for "the fantasy of being thin" and that's probably because I refer back to that post so many times. The real Fantasy of Being Thin was written by Kate Harding and is here and you should go read it RIGHT NOW. It was a defining piece for me, but alas, I did not write it. Another big mess of you get here by searching for "like seriously?" or variations on that, and I assume this is because we have all lost the ability to communicate without sounding like Valley Girls.

My personal favorite searches are just the really weird and unexplainable shit. For a while there, "swinging testicles" might have been my all-time favorite, but new contenders include:

* "i need something that could make last , when i am doing sex , i am coming too soon ."
When I am doing sex makes me very happy.

* "knee socks"
More random than anything. Who searches for knee socks and then stays here? Oh, it's my compelling prose!

* "seriously how to grow boobs"
Very serious, indeed. Nothing to joke about there with the growing of the boobs.

* "that teenager persists, when these songs materialize over the speaker systems in department stores or reworked as television-commercial soundtracks"
I like this sentence. I wish I had wrote it. It's from Fatshionista. I cannot imagine typing that entire thing into Google. You are a very specific searcher.

Tell me about you.

Not Buying It

I am amazed by the bloggers that manage to have full-time jobs, families, and scads of well-articulated essays. Here's how my week usually goes. I go to work and eat my lunch at my desk. This is designated Blog Time, where I read through the blogs I follow and attempt to shovel in food at the same time. I usually send links to my personal account with subject lines like "For Blog" or "Write This Topic" or "Think" with the idea that I am going to go home, eat a meal, spend quality time with kid and husband, read all the books that are piling up on the bookshelf, and then write some brilliant essay based on someone else's post, and then get to bed in time to get 8 hours of sleep. Yeah, right.

If I ever do anything with the links, it's usually more of a Link Love post with a message that says, "they said it better than me."

That being said, I have been thinking about this post, Why We Buy, over at Cat's Meow for a while. The sermon at church today discussed our culture of conspicuous consumption and how even so-called Christians base decisions about the life of the church on money and status. It reminded me that I wanted to write something about this.

I took a big paycut after I went back to work post maternity leave, so that I would have a day free to spend with Zygote and to write and to basically do all the housework things that don't get done when they are not part of someone's job description (grocery shopping, dry cleaning, pediatrician appointments, etc). Before Z, I was aware that a disproportionate amount of my money goes to clothes and books, keeping my hair a shade of "natural" red, remaining hairless and drinking lots of wine. In other words, grooming and being selfish. I've had to cut back drastically, but I still notice that I am surrounded by clutter, STUFF. This was the impetus for the outfit project and this month's "no clothes or books" project.

Cat's Meow asked the question,

"So, why DO we buy stuff we don't need, like that much, or possibly even afford?
And why, for goodness' sake, do we clean up, and then go and buy more useless stuff to fill the empty space?"

That's it, isn't it? The why. I know that I'm capable of saving money when I need to, and I have never used a credit card to pay for "fun" purchases, but I get serious, clear out, and then replace everything. Editorial note: the day last month's shopping ban was over, I bought a bunch of new jewelry and dresses at the Ann Taylor outlet. Same DAY people. And yes, I may make hilarious fun of the Dwell kids on Unhappy Hipsters, but my main reaction is fascination: Where is all their stuff? You know, the books, the piles of shoes, messy magazines, cds....where is it?

The explanations that most resonated with me were:

-We feel insecure and uncertain in the world and what the future will bring, so we buy "for the future". Like the world is going to run out of stuff soon and we need to hoard a "safety net".

I am a multiples buyer. Almost all the time. Just in case the world ever stops manufacturing the cotton underwear I like, I have enough to last me for the next couple of years. Same with gym socks. If you are ever having a gym sock emergency, call me.

- We like to project an image of a person we wish we were, say bohemian, artsy, intellectual, sporty, adventurous.. through our belongings, clothing and home decor.

I have lots of "on writing" books.

-We think that the knowledge from the books we own magically "belongs" to us if we just own the books. Buy the book, be smarter. Lose the books, lose the information they contain. (Hey, anyone heard of libraries and the internet?)

Our books situation is a bit out of control. We have boxes of books in the basement that were never unpacked and shelves just bursting from the weight of my books. Now we have a shelf re-arranger (read: Zygote) so all of those books end up strewn all over the floor. I always said that I buy books because I like to write in them and take notes (true), and then I can refer back to them when I want to write about a quote that stayed with me (also true). But I think Cat's Meow's explanation hits closer to home. It's been so long since I've had any kind of real creative work, and/or intellectual stimulation. I think that all the reading I do about topics outside of my daily realm help prove to myself that hey, look, I can be smart and that I do know things.

-We are depressed and use shopping as an escape.

I do not do this anymore, I think, but it's been a habit that was hard to break. I still have clothes with tags on them and unworn shoes and unread books that I bought when I was seperated from my first husband. When he was away in treatment, I would visit on the weekends and then hit a different outlet mall every time on my ride back. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't drink. I would just buy things.

-We are happy and want to celebrate by buying ourselves a gift.

Also known as: Stay Away From Anthropologie.

-We are bored and entertain ourselves by shopping.

Same as above. During the seperation time, if I had not made plans with a friend or my family, I would wander around the mall and buy things to make up for the fact that I had nothing else to do. The JCrew sales girl knew my name, and I will always remember her fondly because she never brought up the fact that I spent most Saturday nights during that time, alone in the mall, eating at Starbucks for dinner.

-We buy in to the subconscious idea that happiness is just one purchase away. After you get that one thing, it's still just one purchase away. We think, "if only I had a bigger home", "if only I had a better car", or that fabulous couch, that awesome outfit, the perfect pair of jeans, flattering shade of lipstick, and on and on.

This is a little bit like The Fantasy of Being Thin, but with shopping.

So what do I do with all this information? I'm not quite sure. I'm still trying to institute a ban on "extras." YG doesn't think that I have a spending problem, but it feels like it's about more than the money. I really do want to try and simplify things, make do with less, de-clutter, blah, blah, blah. I don't NEED anything right now. I worry about what happens to all my stuff when I'm done with it. I worry about raising another generation of conspicuous consumers. And I'd like to keep the money I make for me. And so on.

Like:This Is Why I Will Never Be An Adult

Everyone on Facebook has been linking to the exceptionally brillaint, Hyperbole and A Half post, This Is Why I Will Never Be And Adult. I don't think there has been anything written in recent history that better describes my state of being.


Image: Hyperbole and a Half

Zygote is sleeping, YG is riding, and here I am, typing and thinking:



Thank you, Allie. I don't know who you are, but I like you, like you.

Live Blogging (Maybe): Celtics v. Lakers Game 7

I had some serious posts planned, but this could be more fun. Assuming I don't run out of battery power, here we go.

* I am 12 years old. Every time someone talks about someone's stroke, I giggle.
* I still don't like Charles Barkley. Why is he in every commercial on tv?
* I love you, Dos Equis man, the most interesting man in the world.
* There is a rumor that Pau Gasol is gay. Not with that neck hair, me thinks.
* My mother refers to Lamar Odom as the guy "married to that fat Kardashian."
* Love that they put the Great White Hope in for a few seconds in the end of the first half. Call me, Brian. We can do yoga together.
* YG just gave me a wet willy when I made fun of the Red Sox for only winning 6 World Series. He claimed the right number was 8. The right answer is 7.
* Jeff Van Gundy -- the most photogenic announcer on tv.
* "High tension situation" -- no shit.
* It's Rondo Time.
* 1 million dollars an hour = 8,760,000,000 dollars a year, per YG. In response to Toyota commercial.
* I remember Ray Allen when he played for UConn. It's been a long time since we graduated.
* Lots of profanity. 13 point lead. I love when you catch these guys mouthing "MOTHAFUCKA!"

So far. Signing off at 10:45 p.m.

Feminist Chicks -- Being A Woman Does Not Automatically Mean You Are A Feminist

Since I spent the vast majority of last week navel gazing and reminiscing about Z's birth, I totally missed everything going on in the world of politics. So, Carly Fiorina is now the GOP candidate for US Senate in California, making bitchy comments about her opponents hair and everything in between. Much has been written about Fiorina's disastorous run at HP, but people seem to forget where she was prior to HP.

My first job out of college was writing articles for the employee newsletter of the "Global Service Provider Networks Group" at a huge corporation. That group, later renamed the much-sexier Service Provider Networks Group, was run by Carly. During that time, she was named Number One on Fortune's Most Powerful Women in Business list. The rumor mill at big companies is always nuts, but nothing out of the ordinary. I had no axe to grind with her until she decided to move on to HP and made some dumb-ass comment about how it proved that there obviously "no glass ceiling anymore." Right. I was sitting in a conference room full of women watching Carly say this on tv -- these were women who had attended her meetings, written her speeches, distributed her news, planned her itineraries and the silence was deafening. My boss, an African American woman with two kids, was the first, and I believe, only, to speak, saying, "well, that's news to me."

I've pretty much loathed her ever since, but at the same time, am freakishly fascinated.

Red Vinyl Shoes post, Feminist Does Not Mean "Strong Woman," is an amazing read.

"These women are part of a new wave of conservative feminism, which apparently views women’s advancement in the workplace and politics to be the most important tenet of actual feminism. Basically, these conservative feminist leaders have decided that the advancement of women to the upper echelons of business — something they have already achieved — is what feminism should really be about. Behind the complicated, self-invalidating beliefs pairing the “right to life” with an exhortation to protect women and children and their token glorification of the homemaker is just the basic white feminist desire to finally reach that level of equality with men in regards to power and most importantly, privilege. Once the smoke clears, wealthy conservative feminist candidates will likely discontinue the rhetoric exalting homemaking as one of the most important things a woman can do. By opposing ideas like subsidized child care, access to birth control, and legal abortion, these women will actually make things worse for any homemaker not privileged by race and wealth."

As a white woman who has spent all of her career in corporate America, I feel very conflicted about what it means to be a business leader and what sacrifices I would have to make to go further. I know that I am lucky in my achievements. I respect the women who have achieved more than I have, but I do not believe that becoming the leader of a multinational corporation means that all women have suddenly become equal, and there's no need for a feminist movement anymore. As I said before about Sarah Palin, it really fucking disturbs me, though, that people are falling for it.

Overcoming Performance Anxiety

Yesterday's showdown with the cupcake was a bust. Poor kid was surrounded by paparazzi and just stared at it. Tonight was a different story. She is bouncing off the walls now.

June 11: One Year Old

June 11, 2009: 11:47 a.m.



June 11, 2010: around 9:30 a.m.



Happy Birthday, Z!

Nostalgia Train

On this day last year, I was in labor. Zygote will be one tomorrow. In a nutshell, this has been a fast, exhilarating, terrifying, educational, sleep-deprived whirlwind of a year.

Of course, I have been all about the reflecting this week on her birth story, and I recently told a work colleague that I was really starting to LIKE spending time with Zygote, that she was fun and smart and that this was very different from the ferocious mother love you feel. Of course, I love my child. But now, I’m enjoying watching her discover new things and play games. I would choose to be with her even if I didn’t have to be.

This is different from those early, hazy, sleepless days. When she was born, I was thrilled to see her, but the thing I felt the most was this overwhelming sense of responsibility. And fear. A this-is-it-welcome-to-the-big-show-youre-an-adult-now-don’t-fuck-this-up inner monologue was on constant repeat. Looking back, it’s obvious that there were a number of factors contributing to that. Zygote was born when YG was still dizzy and recovering from his hearing loss. My labor was extremely long (30+ hours.woot!) and painful (back labor.woot!) followed by major abdominal surgery (C-section.woot!). MG and YG got sick with the flu right after Z was born, so they couldn’t be near her and the medication that Z had to take made her cry pretty much 24-7 for two weeks. Then MG got appendicitis and had to have surgery. And I had some pretty bad postpartum depression that required medication.

But at the time, I wasn’t able to see how all of that may have contributed to my totally fragile emotional state. I wasn’t really seeing anything. I was just living one long continuous day and FEELING everything. I remember sitting in my doctor’s office, filling out a form that asked questions like, “Do you feel you have lost the ability to be happy?” I couldn’t stop crying, and I tried to take as long as possible to answer the questions so I could delay having to go home, to have to go back to THAT PLACE, where everyone needed me. I like being alone. I was not, and to some extent still am not, used to all this contact. I was also convinced, deep in my core, that YG was going to leave me if he got even a whiff of vulnerability from me. It sucked.

Prior to birth, I had referred to my maternity leave as “my summer off.” I thought it was going to be all mommy play dates and beers on the patio and going to museums and writing with my beautiful, snoozing infant in her eco-friendly sling. What a load of crap! When I realized that all I would be doing for the first few weeks was choosing what chair to nurse in next, I was overwhelmed by grief. Every little task like picking up the dry cleaning or emptying the dishwasher or even taking a shower took on monumental significance – I had to prove that I could accomplish SOMETHING or else everything would come crumbling down.

It was over a month before I even attempted grocery shopping, and because I am a glutton for punishment, we went to Costco. Zygote screamed the entire time, while I angrily shoved the cart around the store, and a teenage girl and her mother gaped at me wehn they caught me hissing, “Jesus Christ, will you shut the fuck up already?” The next day, during an epic screaming fit and a diaper change that resulted in shit all over the wall, I bit Zygote’s leg. Not hard, but enough that she stopped the crying to notice. I didn’t know what else to do. I gave up. I had zero confidence in my ability to function as a normal human with the capability to love. I longed to go back to work (this should scream DANGER if you know me), but at the same time, wondered how the hell people managed to have anything left over for their jobs or really, anything besides the baby. YG told me that we would cross that bridge when we needed to, which I interpreted, of course, as “get your shit together. I’ve done Crazy once. I’m not doing it twice, and if you can’t get it together, I’m leaving you and this kid and hightailing it to San Francisco.”

I don’t know what the turning point was. There was no magic bullet. It just started to suck less. Medication certainly helped, but it wasn’t the cure all I wanted it to me. I still had to feel and fumble my way through shit and I hated that. I started to ask for help. Made lunch dates with people. Accepted the offers of the pastoral care team at my church for company and conversation. Joined a mom’s group. Everyone recovered from their illnesses. The sun came out. I walked for miles every day, sometimes feeling like I was sleepwalking, but I discovered a bunch of new neighborhoods and watered our plants a lot. I learned how to nurse and read at the same time, despite Dr.Sear’s (AAAAAH) advice that I should savor every moment of our bonding time. Barf. I read good and bad books, sometimes out loud. I wrote a teeny tiny bit. And I watched the entire My So-Called Life series again. Twice.

Zygote started smiling and knowing who I was. I started to realize that I knew how to comfort her. We went away for two weeks at the beach. YG and I spent two nights away in Atlantic City. We started to figure out a new normal.

I went back to work. I’m trying to figure out the dreaded “work/life balance,” but I’ll be forever grateful to my kid for giving me some perspective. My mom stayed with us for a month and then YG’s sister sat for Z before she started daycare. We trusted our instincts and switched her to a different daycare within a month. Words cannot express how much I love it.

We did Christmas in New Jersey. We did her first snowy winter in New England. YG and I each survived a week on our own with Z when the other had to go away on business. Nothing quite beats seeing that shock of crazy hair and toothy grin, when you’re stumbling up the front steps after a particularly hideous red eye. We did Easter in Florida, and our first family trip to Disney. I did not wear white sneakers. Or a visor. We did MG’s 11th birthday on a Spirit of Boston cruise. We survived.

But it was more than survival. We got to know one another. To like one another. We learned how to be a family of four. I started to learn how to be a mom. I made several attempts at cooking. I learned that I still really, really, really LIKE my husband.

To use corporate speak, I am continuing to work on my “areas for development” like patience and patience and patience. And I am becoming more confident in my abilities to not totally screw this kid up. In fact, I think I may be able to teach her a thing or two.

Happy Birthday, Z, one day early. Love, Mama.

Another Lost Child

My brain is mush. I am thinking of sweet Pearl and how unfair it is to have another friend lose a child. Logical me knows that there is no rhyme or reason to why accidents happen, but in my heart, I am sad and angry and afraid. I am so sick of the universe throwing lost children, miscarriages, infertility, autism at my friends. This seems like a childish rant, but that's where I am right now. Shaking. I feel blessed to have what I have, but so fucking angry about what's been taken away from others. I am thinking of you, MM, and keeping your family in my prayers.

Heavy Rotation

M.Ward is usually on heavy rotation around these parts, and (500) Days of Summer reminded me how much I like Zooey Deschanel, so I downloaded the newest She & Him album. It's been on repeat all day. This clip is old, but I love it.