Weird euphemism of the day: 

“Went quietly.” Verb. To die. 


Everyday Entitlement

1) I love this idea and I just friggin love you.


3) Taking one for the team:

 Personally, I enjoy feeling super entitled to enjoying not fucking smiling when some guy thinks it’s kosher to tell me to smile (why do they do that??? I’m not here to appease you). Or to smile with my way-less-than-perfect teeth as much as I do or don’t want purely for my own damn benefit, because my flesh prison and its framework actually don’t work as a mechanism to define my worth as a woman/ human being to spectators, thanks.

I also enjoy feeling entitled to control my own image, not as “false advertising” (again, women are human beings and worth far more than their bodies in the first place, yo), but as what makes me feel okay and thus empowered– being it how I choose to take a picture of myself, how much make-up I do or don’t want to wear, or how much skin I do or don’t want to cover.

I don’t owe supposed “beauty” and subservience to the world merely because I was born with a ‘gina.


Feminist bullshitz

Women don’t happen into these situations where they are victimized, brutalized, or raped. We are being systematically overrun by a cycle of conditioning that teaches people of both genders that the female value lies in her ability to fulfill the needs of men. Since the needs of men are        varied (such as needing a housewife and a fucktoy) the worst of men are 1) never satisfied, 2) need multiple women to meet their needs and 3) hold women to contradicting and impossible standards of behavior.

What controls women is their desire to please. Women have to stop swallowing the pill– stop believing they are lesser. Women need some everyday entitlement. 

Which brings me to the name of our next blog: EverydayEntitlement 

Impending Graduation Anxiety

With my first span of this much free time in my adult life, a week and a half have passed and it feels like two days, tops.

I’ve had time to actually do school work and to wonder why I wasn’t doing more of this when the material was much more enticing– and not so close to the end instead.

I can never put “held a full-time job as a full-time student as a part-time, fill-in step-mom who half-assed her way by on all fronts, lost and found herself over and over again like a pre-teen girl in some sappy coming of age tale, and managed to have a relatively small number of truly concerning mental breakdowns and existential crises about it, if you really think about it. Look… I stayed up until 3 am and cried hundreds of times for this piece of paper– please hire me?” on a resume, but for now I can live with the satisfaction of waking up to rain on the tin roof of my parents’ house at the asscrack of 8 am, plotting how I’ll find the will and the abilities to “make something of myself.”


I come home angry about my manager being a raging cunt today,

Neglecting to mention the woman at work who sympathized with me for fifteen minutes over the emotions that come with moving on and graduating and being unsure of your future. Or the man who told me my hair looks just like his beautiful wife’s hair, in a way that managed to be precious rather than creepy. Or the couple who told me, for at least the twentieth time, that I look and act just like Dr. Soandso’s daughter– “She’s a runner, you know? Tiny and sweet like you. I swear you could be twins.” The totally platonic and precious kiss on the cheek my co-worker gave me when she realized it was our last day of working together.

Because it’s really easy to be angry when I know that– and I do hate to say this– it certainly brings me a whole lot of pain to finally leave.

I’ve cried there at least a hundred times, hugged someone at least two hundred more, viewed it as my own personal Hell, used it and my co-workers as my own personal safe haven time and time again, kissed and fucked and fallen madly in love there.

Here’s to something else.