Big pile of UGH

I cannot believe that tomorrow is only Thursday. This has been one HELL of a week. At work, at home, at EVERYWHERE. And now my team is MAD AT EACH OTHER and can’t we just HUG IT OUT????

I’m ready for a three-day weekend. I’m ready to maybe go see the Giants next week. I’m ready to just not see other people for awhile. UGH.


Dream a little dream

First, some levity.

I had a dream last night that I borrowed a super secret Gallifreyan book from Electric Girl and accidentally told Tumblr all about it, because it had some really juicy and awesome information in it about the Giants, who happened to be Time Lords. All of them. Well, the Council of Time Lords found out about it and I had to meet with them – Aubrey Huff and Freddy Sanchez. Aubs was NOT amused and really, I was looking down the barrel of a loaded gun because the punishment for divulging Time Lord information was DEATH. But before they decided what to do with me, we had to watch a rookie try and play all the positions at once during a game. He was a scrawny little redhead named Barry Bonds.


And now for something a little more serious. Today is PTSD Awareness Day. It’s an important day because of the number of people who suffer from PTSD in this country. It’s particularly important because of our men and women in uniform who return home with PTSD and are either given half-assed help or not help at all. But I also want to draw attention to the people who have PTSD and haven’t fought in war. It’s a very real thing and a lot of time, non-military people with PTSD are kind of frowned upon. At least that’s the experience I’ve had. When I tell people that I know someone with C-PTSD (complex PTSD), they always ask “Oh, how long did they serve?” and when I say they didn’t, they just kind of side-eye me like I’m lying. I’m not lying.

So if you know someone with PTSD, give them a hug today (if they’re up to it). In fact, give them a hug everyday that they’re up to it. They deserve it.

A pre-bed ponderance

I’ve come to realize, in the past few months, that I am exactly where I never thought I’d be: doing none of the things I hoped for ten years ago and being happy about it. I have a job I love that I envision leading to a career, I live in a place I love with the only person I’ve deemed suitable to keep around while I live my life*, I have an amazing family and amazing friends, I have things to be passionate about.

I could go on and on. Of course, there are things I wish hadn’t happened. I wish the church hadn’t run us off because they were afraid we had gone lesbionic*, I wish Electric Girl hadn’t gotten sick, I wish we could’ve been more successful in North Carolina. There are many things I wish I had or hadn’t happened, but one of the strongest convictions I hold is a desire to live a life free of regret. I remember when I discovered the concept – I was sorting out my spirituality at the time – and while I considered living without regret, I realized all the weight it’d lift off my shoulders.

My whole life, society has been training me to be apologetic for my size and gender. It teaches me that my place in society is less, should be invisible and quiet and unimportant. By living a regretless life, I can stop apologizing and feeling guilty about my existence. I can begin to live my life, the life I deserve as a member of the human race.

I can stop letting the past control my thoughts and influence my decisions. I can learn to grow from the things that hurt me, that knock me a few rungs lower on the latter. Embracing a lack of regret doesn’t make me more reckless or careless; it helps me examine obstacles from another angle, one unmarred by the fog of self-criticism.

So right now, I have one regret. It’s not one I expected to have and I’m dealing with moving beyond regret but it’s a hard row to hoe. I think living my life without regret has helped me come to this place of acceptance and peace. Nothing’s perfect, not by a long-shot, but there is something wonderfully comfortable in this place. It makes the day-to-day so much easier.

*It’s worth mentioning that we’re not lesbians, no matter how deeply convinced otherwise some of you think you are

Lincecum on over

How I spent tonight: splashy splashy in the pool, shower, dinner, baseball game. The nerd-awesome thing about the game was that it was the game from this afternoon, which Electric Girl recorded for me. It was Lincecum Day and if you didn’t get to see the game, I will tell you that it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Timmy is just a thrill to watch because his mechanics are just ridic. Case in point:

And that’s not even a good gif of him pitching. He got 12 Ks and for the first time in like, quite a few games, he actually SMILED as he was walking off the field. There’s our guy!

Tomorrow is Friday, which means just one more week until a long weekend! Also, one more week until July, July, which we will actually celebrate this year, if it’s the last thing we do. It helps that it falls on a Friday this year. I’m not really sure what will go into our July, July party but I’m sure it will be epic and also involve lots of loud singing. (For those of you not in the know, “July, July” is a song by The Decemberists, and we observe July July on July 1 every year. Usually by having beer or something, to welcome in the summer. The past…oh…I don’t know, forever years haven’t been a good time for a party but now I think it is the PERFECT time to observe the holiday we made up.) Then there’s the Fourth of July and determining whether or not we can see the fireworks at Cal Expo from our apartment.

Oh, and I feel like I owe my readers (all three of you) an explanation as to why I am so adamant about my parents avoiding my Tumblr page. Okay, see, Tumblr is basically an internet blackhole full of inside jokes, Harry Potter, and pictures of cats. My Tumblr doesn’t usually have pictures of cats but it way full of pictures of baseball players, which I know bores my mom (but shouldn’t because Mom, seriously, eye candy!), and also full of other things that would either confuse my parents or just make them wonder what kind of child they have raised.

On a completely unrelated note, Electric Girl talked A LOT about nail polish in her last few posts, and I feel compelled to tell everyone that I’m wearing a shade of red called “Madison Ave” (I think). It is GORGEOUS and I love it.

It's hard work, taking a picture of your fingernails

Day 2: already doubting my relevancy

I thought I’d take a minute to update my blog since my mom liked my first post on Facebook. AAAHHH! You’ll notice that I’ve added my Tumblr link there on the side…Mom, do not go there because you will not like it. Tumblr is like, so not safe for parents. For MY parents. Don’t worry though, I’m just doing that for your own good! Trust me, Mom.

We’re waiting for the game to start and like Electric Girl mentioned, last night was super frustrating. See, our sink backed up and apparently it was all my fault because our garbage disposal has the capacity of a pea. But that still doesn’t explain HOW A MOLDY POPSICLE STICK SHOWED UP IN OUR DRAIN WHAT IS THAT. Seriously. Who puts a popsicle stick down a drain? A five-year-old, that’s who.

OH OH OH. Also while we’re waiting, I will tell you right now that I was handed an AWESOME NEW ASSIGNMENT at work. And it’s exactly what I wanted. I AM SO EXCITED FOR IT. No lie.

Okay, the game is about to start. So I’m going to end this post. Goodbye!

Rest your rump

Ah, a brand new blog. I have some plans for this. Well, if by ‘plans’ I mean ‘two ideas’, then yes! I have PLANS. I’m a little nervous about this little experiment because I plan on giving this to like, everyone. And by everyone, I mean my parents. That means I have to clean up my act a little and not swear so much in big font.

I hate sexism. As a woman, it’s on my radar all the time. I work in an industry dominated by men, at a company run by men, and live in a country that grants exceptions and privilege to white men. I’ve had my opinions, experiences, and knowledge undermined and invalidated by men who assure me that I cannot possibly be right about how women are treated, and really, I should just stop being so sensitive about everything.

Except, you know, I’m not sensitive enough about it. I let things slide all the time. I let guys I know say things that are borderline offensive or just completely offensive. I don’t like conflict and I don’t like to push buttons. But I’m also sick to death of being told my place. By individuals. By corporations. By everything.

I’ve had men treat me as incompetent because I am a woman. I’ve had men step in to take over without asking if I needed help first (and when I didn’t need it anyway). I’ve been lectured about being too independent (mostly by those in the church). I’ve been lectured about not respecting men enough (again by the church-types). I’ve been sworn at for not responding positively to a stranger’s attention. I’ve been catcalled more times than I can count, and believe me, man-readers, it’s not a compliment and it’s not good manners.

So basically, if a woman tells you that she has experienced sexism in one way or another, don’t tell her that she’s wrong and that it’s really THIS way that is TOTALLY not a form of sexism, gosh you crazy woman! Because you’ll be wrong and you’ll also be a jackass.

Sexism is real, it’s wrong, and it hurts everyone.

(Thank you for visiting! This blog post isn’t very good because I was being royally distracted by the Giants’ gloriously horrific playing and also by Buster Posey’s presence in the dugout SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS.)