A word hug

I am in love with the power of words. Because it only takes one sentence to make me want to cry.

"So I offer up my humanness if, instead of a place to stay for the night, you need to hear that even with everything in its right place it's okay if you still don't know why it doesn't feel that way".


Credit: Dooce

Skinny

I don't know why I'm still explaining my blog- "I don't think it's a fashion blog", "I don't want it to be my public journal", "I don't want it to be too serious"- as if anyone reading this needs me to explain that I'm pretty much going to write whatever I want sans filter.  So I'm NOT going to preface this post with "I really don't want to rant about this" dot. dot. dot.

When CLEARLY I DO.

Because I am so sick of the drive to be thin.

As if there is no nobler goal for women alive today but than to be a single digit size.  Below the number six.  I know I know, how many times and by how many people have we heard this argument?  We're just one more pseudo-lesbian group away from being a generation of surly old maids, right? Except we're not.  We're still shopping at Victoria's Secret and wanting Gisele's ass.

I'm not a feminist.  Or shit, maybe I am- because I don't even know what it means to be a feminist.  Does it mean that I think every woman is more than a firm set of tits and a waist small enough to fit a dog collar around?  Well pardon me while I burn my bra and braid my armpit hair. What I do know is that I never again want to envy a supermodels body.  I never want to see another set of protruding hips, or another face photo shopped to the point of being WITHOUT PORES. What has brought me to this state of outrage is the labeling of inanimate objects as "skinny". It's a dangerous game- calling things "skinny". Skinny lattes, skinny jeans. Placing the word "skinny" in front of something does not in fact lead to thinness. All it leads to is a continued assurance that our society is obsessed with weight. Please recognize that wearing skinny jeans changes nothing about your legs and ordering "skinny milk" makes me cringe because it is nothing of the sort. It's non-fat milk and you know what else is non-fat?  Candy. Tons and tons of candy. Which also, WILL NOT MAKE YOU SKINNY. A food that is void of fat does not mean that it won't turn to fat in your body. So it's dangerous to wave this word out in front of us as if it offers some sort of protection to ward off fat. As if fat is the worst thing we could be. 

It is dangerous to be so vulnerable as to think that we are only bodies.

I'm not suggesting that we disregard out health- quite the contrary. And I'm not proposing an agenda in which Rosie the Riveter is our mascot into the world of female-dominant leadership. All I mean to say is that thinness, being skinny and the pursuit of it, is wasting my time. Of all the things I love, enjoy, am passionate about- I couldn't ever say that the pursuit of thinness is one of them. In fact it makes me miserable. Is making me miserable. And let's be real, I'm not alone.

I'm not giving up my femininity or my health. I'm not giving up my self-respect or my desire to be attractive.  But I am giving up on skinny. Because I believe that my value is not measured by the circumference of my waist of the length of my legs in inches.  And if my value could have a numerical form, it would always be higher than my number on the scale.

Early morning mastery

Remember that one time I went to bed at a normal time and it sucked?

Yeah, deja vu.

But that's cool 'cause at 4am no one is around to judge interrupt my weekly fill of old Law and Order:SVU episodes or every single movie trailer that exists right now. Thanks, Hulu, for reminding me that I need to spend all of my income watching movies.

Also, how attractive is Michael Fassbender?






Again, I blame Hulu for that information.

Ramblings of a grown up

Are you there Blog? It's me, Sarah.

I hope you got that Judy Blume reference because if you didn't, you missed out on so much solid literature as a child. A girl waiting patiently for her period to make it's first appearance could have no better friend than Judy Blume.

ANYHOW. I miss my blog. Which is to say I just can't get enough of myself. Oh, you can't get enough of me either? I'M SO GLAD WE'RE FRIENDS.

I work at a coffee shop. (No, I'm not judging you based on your drink order. Unless you order a 20 ounce breve, in which case it's less judgement and more wondering if you know what a breve is. I feel a deep compulsion to make a spectacle of the fact that it's HALF AND HALF. And then I wonder where the fuck you put all the fat because Lord knows I'd be the star of the next TLC show about bed-ridden obese people if I were drinking 20 ounce breves everyday). And I hang out with my house mates. Who are just about my most favorite people in the world to be awkward around hang out with. We do things like watch a cappella competitions, talk about our feelings, and drink herbal teas.

I can't believe how true that last sentence is.

Thank you, Judy Blume, for preparing me for adulthood. It is everything I could have hope for.

(Side note: I just googled "half and half". Why? Because I can. If I didn't miss the Waltons so much, the 21st century would probably get my vote.)

I have no idea what this post was about.

Life in photos

-The Monster Queen

Next, I'll be starting a drum circle

I know I've expressed before that I never imagined my blog becoming my interactive journal, and my innate introversion is still desperately hoping that it won't be, but it seems that my sarcasm to life ratio is a little unbalanced these days. And that's probably due to the fact that I'm getting extra doses of life these days. Or maybe I'm just finally paying attention.

A couple of weeks ago I drafted a lengthy post on what it feels like to be a stranger living in your boss' house, being accused of using poor judgement, getting yelled at, and then being expected to sit down for an amiable dinner (with your boss and their extended family). It was emotional and melodramatic, and then it mysteriously disappeared. Which I took as a sign that as much as I want all the wounded of the world (who read my blog) to know YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID AND I CAN TOTALLY RELATE TO THAT REALLY CRAPPY THING YOU HAD TO GO THROUGH AND YES, IT SUCKED! some times I guess, I just can't wrap the entire world in an imaginary hug. No matter how hyperbolic and heartfelt it might be. Also, maybe I don't need to dwell on the sad things so much.

So lately I've been trying to do just that- not dwell on the sad things. Now, my immediate instinct is to list ALL OF THE SAD THINGS I'M TOTALLY NOT DWELLING ON. Which is to say, it takes effort. It takes effort to let go of my anxiety and appreciate that I have been BLESSED to spend time with my family, laugh my head off with them, see unexpected and beautiful places in America, help my little sister with her math, enjoy so much good food, share moments and treasures and LIVES.

I can't decipher the last three months of my life. I can't determine why I am where I am now- so far off from where I ever imagined myself being. But honestly, I'm tired of trying to. I love where I am, as transient and out of my control as this place in my life is. I'm sharing my life with people. And I'm so blessed by the lives being shared with me.

Now let's everyone hug it out.


-The Monster Queen

Secrets make your clothes smell better

Who knew that my Mount Rushmore shirt would make such an impact on my wardrobe? I guess I should take back all the mean things I said about South Dakota. NOT.

In case you don't see me every week (you don't, I'm in a house with children one billion hours a week. Oh, a week doesn't have a billion hours? EXACTLY.) it makes an appearance each wash cycle. And by that I mean when it's clean, I wear it. And it would probably be clean more often if I was allowed to do laundry while on shift. But I'm not. I'm also not allowed to read books on shift. Or microwave any food for the children. Which, I would totally support if that didn't mean I was heating up an entire jar of store bought spaghetti sauce on the stove, just to use two tablespoons of it. And the rest that I'm putting in Tupperware to go back in the fridge? Yeah, I can't microwave that tomorrow either.

Other things I'm not allowed to do "on shift":
Be farther than 3 feet from the children at any given time
Let the children play unmediated games with their friends
Fold laundry on my lap (it needs to be folded on the bed)
Wash the cousin's swim things with our swim things
Deny the children their third daily Popsicle
Eat my meals w/o the children
Expect to get paid on time

All this to say, I'M DOING MY LAUNDRY IN SECRET. Yeah, that's right. When I say I'm going to the bathroom I'm actually folding my clothes. I never imagined that my rebellious nature would lead to secret laundry. I feel like such a fraud. When my bathroom breaks get taken away, I have no idea what I'll be forced to do.





-The Monster Queen