Breasted and dangerous

I just pounded my fists on my desk in agreement with this article by Lynn Harris on Salon, defintely one of the better articles I've read that just HITS IT with the experience of being a comic-con-vagina. Even on my rinky-dink local-comic scale.

From the article:

Her observation: "When a guy tells a story about an ex-girlfriend screwing him over, he gets laughs and maybe sympathy. When a girl tells a story about a guy screwing her over, she gets a lecture, or worse. The whole discussion becomes a referendum on women's sanity," she says. "I call this 'nice guy misogyny,'" she goes on. "Overt sexism is easy to deal with. Someone zings you, you zing him back. The real problem comes from the supposedly 'nice married guys' who secretly resent women for being on their turf and take it out on them in various subtle ways." In a place where personal misery becomes professional hilarity, everyone brings a back story of pain -- mommy issues, a nasty ex, hatred for the head cheerleader -- so perhaps it's especially easy to become a lightning rod when you're the only one in the room with two X chromosomes.

Petty annoyance #3,744:

I really hate when the phrase "Oh Baby!" is used in mass media in reference to pregnancy/actual babies.

When this happens, I will read "Oh Baby!" I imagine, like, Marilyn Monroe cooing. Then I find the phrase followed by a pitch for a diaper's absorbency or pictures of pregnant celebrities. It is just abrupt, you know? If there was some graceful way to lead the mental imagery from a sexy-sex suggestion to a baby shitting, then maybe it would be okay to use, but that doesn't work for me.

Hm

If a lumpy tube of meat had a small but very present cancerous growth at its top, it could double as the profile of my nude torso.

Karaoke

Fuck, my throat feels bleedy.

Granola in the mail!

I got granola in the mail. I hope no one poked a syringe full of disease in it. That would be tragic (right?) See, I only slept for 2 hours last night. I opened the package the granola came in. But I'm so tired I can't remember if the sticker sealing it shut looked as grimy as it did when I received the package. Had it been tampered with? I looked for little holes. I didn't see any, but my eyes are unreliable.

But I don't feel very useful right now so if I go via poisoned granola, so be it. Please destroy the files of my delicate short fiction and burn everything else. I want my funeral to go like this:



Just kidding. Please don't kill me.



This is why I slept for 2 hours. I will sound like an ass, but I want to share the good things. I had Proust Club (I mean, I promised I would start Swann's Way and then I have been reading other things that don't intimidate me so I didn't but then they asked me to come anyway and it was great.) I had two chocolate stouts on an empty stomach with the great conversation. When I came home I started Swann's Way. Then I got distracted by the internet because I wanted to look something up and someone posted this Raymond Carver story. Normally I'm not so much into him, but I liked it and it sort of reminded me of this Mary Gaitskill story (this version is a lil diff. from the version printed in Don't Cry), probably just because of the waitresses, the physicality, something like sexual currency, so there, who knows what my exhausted, mildly-drunk mind was a-cobbling, but there you go. Two nice stories. ENJOY.

FALAFEL+COFFEE MADE MY TUM HURTZ

1. Old people - why do you push me into the tall bushes when we are walking opposite each other on the sidewalk? Don't confuse my youth with flexibility.

2. Pubs: I think we might have overdone it with the vampire books this season...!

3. How I love Mishima. He makes me so happily devastated.

Someone said something nice

After deriding my age and sensing I was unhappy about that because I began to ignore him, a teenage boy assured me the other day that I am "cute, but in the same way that a brontosaurus is cute" and I wonder if that means I am still fuckable or just a dumpy, fraudulent assemblage of bones?

(I'm holding out hope for fuckable.)