Thursday, October 12, 2017

gittin swole

Today was a first-in-life, so I'm setting it here.

I grew up as unathletic as they come. I don't think I ever ran a mile until a few years ago. I dreaded PE, was the last kid picked for anything, and carried that baggage into my adulthood.

Today I competed in powerlifting, and didn't do terribly.

I didn't take it as seriously as I would have needed to in order to "win." (the scoring was based on the Wilks formula, which is to say, if you lift heavy but also *are* heavy, you may lose to someone lifting lighter who is lighter. I *am* heavy-- the heaviest I have ever been in my life, almost as heavy as I was when pregnant. I'm also strong as hell.) If I wanted to win, I would have had to decide months in advance, and have the willpower to skip beer and cheese. I am still undecided on whether that would be worth it...

And I have yet to see the scores, to see how much more I would have had to lift, or how much weight I'd need to lose. but I hear I placed 4th in bench press, which I always thought was my crappiest lift. (presumably that was my best scoring lift because otherwise I think I would have heard about it)

But that's not the point. I tried something new today. I was baffled by the rules, missed the instructions and scored needlessly low on my favorite lift due to a miscommunication, but it was still so fun! Next time, and I hope there will be a next time, I might actually know what I'm doing, and I think I would have a shot at placing well.

In my twenties, I must have wanted to be a badass. Now that I'm 40, I'm... kind of a badass.

Monday, February 20, 2017

Not My President's Day

Molly told me she wanted to draw on one of her white shirts with fabric markers. Fine, I said. I suggested she sketch out what she planned on a piece of paper first, since the fabric markers aren't forgiving, and kindergartners are prone to spelling and artistic changeability.

As I prepared breakfast and coffee in the other room, she asked me "what letter makes a 'shh' sound?"

"It depends. What are you trying to spell?"


I put the coffee down. "That's a strong word. What are you writing?"

I love this kid.

Yes, I told her several times, she has it out of order, but she doesn't listen to me, no ma'am.

She tells me the picture is of trump picking his nose and using his phone. I think the nosepicking thing is just because she's in kindergarten, and that's a thing. The phone, though... she picks up on everything.
The red dot was intended to be a stop sign.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Glitter and fists

Today is a day that I got to go to a protest, AND play with glitter. So I fucking win today. The End.

Friday, January 20, 2017

It's a momentous day...

... it must be
Because my kid finally grew a pair of ovaries, and agreed to watch Star Wars with me (she's always said she's too scared, but today today she said "I want to watch it, I'm not scared.")
And now I sit in bed, and hear downstairs, the sound of my husband peeling packing tape to laminate the sign my kid made for tomorrow's march. Tomorrow, my family marches.

She made the sign. This will be her third rally since election night. She will know that this is what we do, this is one of the things we do as part of this great democratic experiment. We will march, as her parents marched, and their parents, and theirs, and we will turn this thing around.

Ask her where the power comes from... she might just tell you that the power comes from the people when they stick together.

I'm not sure why tonight, of all nights, she finally decided she was willing to watch star wars, but I'm glad we got another venue to talk about rebellions and #goodtrouble.

Sunday, January 15, 2017


I had the good fortune to attend two rallies this weekend, and both with my family members. I am truly fortunate to have been raised by giants. Whenever I think of marching, I think of my grandfather, and I want my daughters to also carry on their responsibilities in this great democratic experiment.

I had the good fortune to get to hear John Lewis speak a few years ago when his graphic novel "March" was coming out, and I have been sitting on my copy of the first volume, trying to figure out when is the right age to introduce my kid to it. Of course, that all feels like it's being sped up now, and I've been trying to help her understand "good trouble" as he's described it. At six, she's been told in her schooling to respect authority and police and the law, but here we are, now trying to help her understand that trusting the police is iffy and based on privilege, justice is more important than law, and that sometimes you have to do the things you've been told not to do, in order to bend the arc.

I have to say, that watching this tool attack John Lewis, and say he's "all talk, no action" is just shocking to me, and on the weekend of MLK day! I would expect him to attack John Lewis maybe for disagreement, obstruction even, but... NO ACTION?!?!? THIS MAN? Arrested 40 times during the civil rights movement in the 60's (skull fractured-- he kept going). Arrested 5 times as a congresscritter. WHAT THE FUCK COUNTS AS ACTION TRUMP? Oh, nevermind, it just made me feel very nicki minaj.

Donald, what's action?

Saturday, we went to a pro-immigrant rally in San Jose, and ran into several people we know, which was wonderful. It's good to go, and find out you are not alone. It's even better to to see the strength of the people when they come together, and the support of local city and state representatives. This rally seemed better prepared than a few of the others I've been to in the recent months, which is a great sign, because we are going to need it.

I love an immigrant. You probably do, too, but that's not the point. I think we get a little sidetracked when we try to leverage people's heartstrings... "you should care about women's rights because you have mothers and sisters and daughters" "you should want gays to be able to get married because Gary in accounting is gay and you like him." I mean, great, we love Gary in accounting, but even if you don't, you should care about people you don't even know. Period.

Sunday was a healthcare rally in San Francisco. I wasn't going to go, on account of it being far, and me having a family to take care of and all, but my mom wanted to go, and our neighbors were going and they have a 2 year old and are pregnant with another, so I have no good excuse. I'm glad we went. What a great lineup, and what a beautiful day! Pelosi, Eshoo, Zofgren, a bunch of others, and Keith Ellison. Ellison was great: I think he even got me excited about being ready for sit-ins (let's all go get arrested!). Again I am so god damn lucky to come from a line of rabble rousers ( I think this is what we used to call involved citizens?). My mother is her father's daughter, and I hope my kids carry this on. I just hope we leave them enough of a world to be able to fight in.

What you yell matters

Whew, so that's two rallies I've gone to that haven't used the "LOVE TRUMPS HATE" chant that I hate so much.

I want to yell and shake my fists as much as the rest of you, but can we just retire that one, please?

Firstly, I dislike "Love trumps hate" because "trump" is the active verb in that sentence, and, you'll forgive me for never wanting mr. drumpf active verbing anything, ever?

But, worse, it sounds a hell of a lot like an imperative (a lot of march chants are imperatives) and NOOOO I will NOT love Trump's hate. I do not love his hate, you should not love his hate. I really detest Trump's hate, and that's why we're all here.

So please, let's just not with the stupid "love trumps hate!" I won't love his fucking hate.

Stick to the classics, willya? Like:


Tuesday, December 06, 2016

Tuesday, November 08, 2016

I guess in a way, this is freeing, because we can all stop pretending now

I'm done. It was all a fucking farce.
I'm done believing my life matters. I'm done pretending I'm equal. I almost believed it for a bit, too! I thought I was killing it, holding my family together, being the breadwinner, kicking ass and taking names. i thought *we* were, maybe, doing it.

We aren't. Women are not equal in this United States. This democratic experiment is not over, but it's time for us to realize that this dream we were so close to, that women mattered, that you could not insult, assault, and smugly ridicule them for just being women... it's a fucking farce. You can do all of these these things, becuase America doesn't give a flying fuck about women. We are still terrified and horrified of women, and, well, I seem to have been born female. So... fuck it. I feel stupid for even believing this dream I was living in.

So, if I start leaving work 77% early, or not doing shit at night because it's not safe to be a woman after dark, or not bothering to follow up on stuff becuase I wouldn't want to be deemed pushy... If I stop paying my taxes because tax-supported hospitals refuse medical care to women and tax-paid judges think that raping a woman behind a dumpster is A-OK...

GO. FUCK YOURSELF, AMERICA. I'm not a fully valuable human, so you shouldn't expect me to be a fully contributing one.

At least I can stop trying to get all this girl power propaganda into my daughters' heads, becuase... it's all a heap of shit. I'd hate for them to grow up to be nasty women, or to think that it's not ok for men to grab them by the genitalia. And frankly, researching this strong-girl-propaganda stuff was taking up a bit of time. It will be so much easier to just buy them lipstick and diet pills.

And I can't keep lying to my daughters and giving them a pretty picture that if they work hard they might be respected and treated as capable, respected individuals. It's a crock of shit, and WHY IS IT MY JOB TO LIE TO MY KIDS.

I thought a woman had to be twice as qualified to be considered half as good, but... I was off by an order of magnitude.  I can't. I just... can't. I'm over and out. I'll let the men in my life take over all the hard shit I've been doing.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Tonight's conversation

As I was tucking molly in to bed...

"Wait. I'm going to call the god of darkness and tell him it's night, because I think he's nocturnal."
"Oh? How do you call the god of darkness?"
"On my superphone!" (Proceeds to make a pretend phone call to chernobog)

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Raising a Believer

Molly: Mom, do you believe in god?
Me: I don’t.
Molly: I do.
Me: OK. What makes you think that?
Molly: Margaret believes in god.
Me: I think she does. You know, some people believe in god, but it’s a different one than Margaret believes in. How will you decide which one to believe in?

Molly: I’ll probably believe in the god… of darkness. And bats.

Update: Apparently, she's referring to Chernobog