Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Day 25

Oh God. That means today is November 25. Exactly... one.... month.... *keels over*.

So, a local pub has been running a trivia night the past few months. Last month I couldn't make it, but the team my husband and friends were on actually won - they all got Sobey's gift cards (free ice cream, woo-hoo). Yesterday someone else couldn't make it so I went, even though I just found out my iron levels are scary low and my head has been aching all week and I'm so tired all the time I just want to cry. It was really fun, although we slipped from first place to third.

In every quiz, there's one word you have to spell. Tonight it was cantaloupe. I wrote it down, and three other people disagreed with me - they thought the second 'a' should be an 'e'. I was suddenly seized with self-doubt. Then I looked at my husband and he was looking at everyone else like they were insane. "Are you the least bit serious?" he said "There's NO WAY she's wrong."

We went with the others. I was totally right. We got the question wrong.

But man - sometimes he pisses me off, and sometimes he totally has my back. Which is nice, even when it's for the weirdest reasons.

I don't even like cantaloupe.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Day 24 - Clothes Make the Woman - NOT

I know I've been phoning it in a lot this month. It's a sort of Catch-22 where having to post every day makes me post something, but I don't feel like I have time to do anything really thoughtful or substantial, especially because November has been busier than usual. But before November, the lack of deadline and motivation meant I didn't have the drive to do anything really thoughtful or substantial then either. 

The cute-as-a-button Ukrainian sales girl that seduced me into buying the magical eye serum in Barrie threw in a facial scrub for free that she said I had to use once a week. She said (in an adorable accent): "Tell me you won't be too busy or too lazy." Sorry, darling, it appears I'm either one or the other ALL THE FREAKING TIME. 

One of the things I've been meaning to post about, back when there was another public furor about school dress codes and how they're fairly discriminatory towards girls. There was also a post on Facebook by a teen-aged or young adult woman (or someone pretending to be one), talking about how she was wearing jeans and a midriff-baring shirt, and how this was the outfit she wore while doing her job and making a baby laugh, while talking with her friends, and then when overhearing a mother tell her child that she was going to get what was coming to her because she obviously didn't respect herself enough to dress like a lady.

Yesterday there was another comment about how women should "respect themselves" on a blog post talking about how women generally deal with either flat-out misogyny and sexism or smaller micro-aggressions related to the same thing every day.

I'm still not taking the time to assemble the post I meant to write about this. I'm just going with what I can think of right now. In the first place, I hear a lot of people (some of them my friends) saying: "What's wrong with modesty?" Well, nothing is inherently wrong with modesty. If modesty is a part of your religious beliefs, or just your general philosophy, then by all means, practice it. But you don't get to make other people adhere to that belief, just like you don't get to make them take Communion or give ten percent of their earnings to the church.

A body is just a body. Every single thing you ascribe to a female body is just that - something YOU ascribe to it. Boobs are just boobs. We have them because we might be able to feed a child with them, assuming we choose to have one. They weren't put there for your gratification, and whether you like seeing them or find them offensive, that's not our issue - it's yours.

One of my friends said she has a male teacher friend who feels uncomfortable when girls in his class show too much skin. Suck it up, I say. He has the same right everyone has - to not be made to feel uncomfortable by someone else's actions or behaviour. If the girls are acting inappropriately towards him, they should be disciplined. If he's uncomfortable because of the very fact of a non-shapeless-garment-draped female body? That is SO not the girls' problem. Go have an argument with the goddamned rape culture that has existed since culture itself became a thing, and probably beforehand.

Now on to that fucking ridiculous empty-of-any-usable-content statement, "respect yourself". Apparently if I respect myself, that will prevent men from perpetrating a host of indignities on me, from paying me less for equivalent work to raping me. Right. All I have to do is respect myself. Good to know it's so easy. Oh, and respecting myself means I should make sure I'm covered up so no one can see "everything I have". Because everything I have extends solely to my boobs and ass.

Yeah, fuck that. If you ever see someone wearing a t-shirt saying "I don't respect myself", THEN you can base your opinion of their self-respect on their clothing. Actually, not even then - maybe they just spilled something on their other shirt and had to borrow that one.

Okay. So that's done. Now I'm going to go scrub my face, because she was seriously SO cute, and I promised.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Day 22

Every year, Collette invites a bunch of girls to her father's cottage. 

We drive up in the morning, dump our stuff at the cottage and head to Westport. We eat at the same restaurant, usually at the same table. Every year now the waiter brings us water, someone goes to take a sip, and someone else says "oh wait, the water tastes funny here". (It's country water. We're city girls.) The french fries are really good.

Then we go shopping at the magical Narnia store, where it looks like you're in a little country store and then you start wandering around and bam, right past the clothes and the shoes there's a bookstore, a full kitchen and a live band. 

Then we go back to the cottage and play games - this year it was some extremely classy Pictionary. 

It's the kind of thing that makes you feel like life is, well... 
Photo credit Collete Antaya.
(Oh, and that necklace? $492.95. Is that not just sheer insanity?)

Friday, November 20, 2015

Day 20

Tired. Hip hurts. Shoulder and neck all seized up.

My sum total of answers contributed to my team's total at World Trivia Night: two. Out of one hundred.

Lilith Crane's maiden name from Cheers (Sternin). And some Irish play called the (blank) of the Western World. (Playboy).

Cover myself in glory I did not. Cover myself in potato chip crumbs and licorice stickiness I did.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Day 19 - Slightly Less Surly Thursday

Random thoughts:

My hip hurts a little less today. I walked Lucy, went out to get blood work done and grab some groceries, and bagged up more stuff for donating and Freecycling.

I realized I'd forgotten about iZombie for a month which means FOUR WHOLE EPISODES, whoo-hoo!

"He puts the boys to sleep with boogie every night/ And wakes them up the same way in the early light"? While I am not unfond of boogie, in its proper place, neither of these things sounds terribly appealing to me.

I said "Sandwich before cinnamon bun!" He said "It's Backwards Day". He swam 5k today AND walked 1.5k home from school in the pouring rain. I decided not to quibble.

We were talking about what cereal we were and weren't allowed to eat as kids the other night, and I got everybody jonesing for Alpen. I bought some today.

We still  have a ridiculous number of stuffed animals. I am aiming to remedy that situation in short order.

My blood was taken by a beautiful black-skinned woman named Lemlem today. I was the only patient, so the other nurse there was telling us about how she won five thousand dollars in the lottery and we were talking about how people who win a lot of money often don't end up happy, and Lemlem said her mother knew a poor farmer in Ethiopia who won a large amount in the lottery and when they came to tell him about it he had a heart attack and died. So... well... make of that what you will.

It took me over six months to watch the movie version of We Need to Talk About Kevin because it was so disturbing. They had to completely change the chronology of things from the book to make it work as a movie, which I think they did admirably. Both Tilda Swinton (Kevin's mother) and Ezra Miller (Kevin) were in Trainwreck, and they were playing totally different characters, but it still gave me a shiver.

If this Lisa chick doesn't pm me back right quick, she's going to lose her shot at this highly desirable Sorcerer Micky Mouse. (Freecycle Without Pity)

Angus has a girl coming over to watch a movie tomorrow. I'm resisting the urge to make heart-shaped cupcakes.

I forgot to buy coconut milk. Fuck.