On Romance Novels
Romance Novels, Hairless Chests, And
Ironically, many people who disdain the romance genre and look down on the women who read it presume that reading about courtship, emotional fulfillment, and rather fantastic orgasms leads to an unrealistic expectation of real life. If we romance readers are filling our own heads with romantic fantasies, real men and real life won’t and cannot possibly measure up to our fairy-tale expectations, right? Wrong. Wrongity wrong wrong wrong. That accusation implies that we don’t know the difference between fantasy and real life, and frankly, it’s sexist as well. You don’t see adult gamers being accused of an inability to discern when one is a human driving a real car and when one is a yellow dinosaur driving a Mario Kart, but romance readers hear about their unrealistic expectations of men almost constantly.
On Collecting Thoughts
…this is a post full of random thoughts. Nothing cohesive and certainly no structure. non-apologies, in advance.
Driving home last night, I saw the leaves strewn about on the road and I realized that it’s really fall. Apparently, the massive amounts of pumpkin spice lattes I’ve been consuming have done nothing to drive that home.
That said, I have no idea what I’m going to be for Halloween and I’m started to stress about it. I was Snow White for three of the past four years, which worked out really well. I missed last year, which was a relief creatively and a major bummer in all other ways.
It’s like that scene from the movie Mean Girls where she shows up at the party dressed in costume, and all the other girls are wearing lingerie and ears.
(linked here – not the best, but whatever. I’m at work, trying to shove ravioli down my throat and type at the same time.)
I want something with a lot of fake blood, or something funny, or something super clever. My friend E has some pants that are her “smarty-pants”…she painstakingly glued packages of Smarties candy all over them. That’s cute. I don’t want to do that, though.
I don’t want to be anything slutty…like a slutty cop. I’ve never understood that. Besides, furry handcuffs are lame. But then again, I could be Lieutenant Dangle from Reno! 911. That’s slutty and a cop. But not in the way you’d expect.
I was 0 for 2 at going out this weekend, so perhaps that’s why the party itch is so strong for a Monday. Friday and Saturday were both “let’s drunk dial Katie and tell her how much fun we’re having and invite her out at ridiculous hours” nights. Boo. Responsibility is so overrated.
Long bike ride with Mike on Friday evening. My Camelbak started leaking down my back nearly immediately after we left the house, and by 7th Avenue, it was dripping down my legs when I stood up. Thankfully, it was a warm night, but it made for a very uncomfortable ride. I hope the weather holds long enough that we’ll be able to do a few more of those before it gets too cold.
On the plus side, I did a ton of laundry and cleaning this weekend. My closet is actually being used as a closet. I just don’t get why people hang clothes up. But I’m doing it. We’ll see how long this lasts.
I was out having dinner on Broadway with R the other night, and he asked me if I’d ever gotten my second bookshelf put together (he built the first one for me back in February – I’d like to interject that I was in the middle of doing it myself, but he interrupted and finished it. I can dig that kind of masculine projection. It saves me some work). I looked back at him and smiled, “I’ve been meaning to call you about that.” He laughed at me. You’ll notice he didn’t build it for me, though. So that’s my goal for tonight. Consider my handyman independence fostered.
Btw, 8tracks.com is my saving grace at work. And so is this mix:
Love to all, and Happy Monday!
On the Future
The average score of accepted applicants is 396.
Beat it!
On Smoking Cessation
Maybe. (I’d had one like four hours earlier because I thought I wasn’t going to see him and could get away with it.) I didn’t lie to him.
From ThoughtCatalog.com:
When It’s Good To Give Up
SEP. 30, 2011
I started smoking when I was 14. I used to say things like, “I’ll quit when I’m pregnant,” as though that was an actual plan, as though I could count on my addiction floundering just because there happened to be two of me growing instead of one. I made similar excuses over the course of my ten-year love affair with nicotine, none of which made logical sense but all of which allowed me to poison myself on an hourly basis without remorse. I wanted to poison myself.
But then, much to the shock of just about everyone who knows me, I quit. I didn’t chew gum or feed nicotine through my pores, I just abandoned the one constant in my life, the one companion I’d had for the past decade. The one-year anniversary of my quit date was this week. I don’t think I’ll go back.
It’s true that nicotine is addictive, it affects your mood, it changes the way you make decisions. It’s easy to point out that cigarettes are ‘the bad guy,’ the way they empty your wallet and yellow your fingertips. This is a negative habit that most people will commend you for giving up.
But we could stand to give up more often. Maybe there are no instructional pamphlets or illustrative posters to point out each and every one of the things we need to rid ourselves of, but there they are – lurking in the shadows of our subconscious. They are the people who make us feel like our lungs are in a vice whenever we see them. The humanization of our bad habits, walking and breathing and telling bad jokes.
Some people just make you feel bad. The way you can wake up smelling like some half-rate casino and think to yourself I don’t want to do this anymore, you can feel that way about people, and the worst part is that you can’t extinguish them, you can’t smother their head into an ashtray or make them someone else’s problem.
It’s in our nature to not want to give up, especially not on people; fragile, harmless people – we all just mean well, don’t we? Don’t we all just want to be happy? Don’t the things we do to achieve that happiness, the things that tear us apart from one another – aren’t those the things that make us similar? Aren’t people inherently good? Maybe. But what does it matter if that goodness is not reserved for you? What if all you extract from a person is negativity? How do we justify allowing ourselves to feel badly because someone may or may not be redeemable?
We don’t always recognize when someone is bad for us, but sometimes we do. Sometimes we become all-consumed by the disgust that’s bred from this idea that we allow hate to affect us so deeply. People create art because of it. It can drive us; it can turn us into something we’re not. And even though it’s ugly, it’s addictive. We become addicted to toxicity.
And in that case, it’s good to give up. It’s good to fight against the cancer growing inside of us by neglecting to feed it. We have to starve it into submission, forgo the efforts that help it grow. The brooding and the anguish, bury it. Extinguish whatever it is that’s making us feel badly and worry about ourselves. We need to quit allowing something that’s decidedly negative to drive our actions, our moods. We need to quit poisoning ourselves with vitriol.
The thing is, there are people who don’t make us feel terrible. There are people who listen to us and care for us and make us smile. They loosen the vice around our lungs and help us breathe. They are the fresh air. They alight us in ways a carcinogenic never will. Whatever energy we devote to a toxic situation, we take away from the people who deserve it – the people whose goodness doesn’t have to be assumed; their goodness is just there, in plain sight. They are worth quitting for. 
On #OccupyDenver, #OccupyWallSt
It started here yesterday, a show of solidarity with those who have been gathered in New York for 12 days, protesting nearly everything, but agreeing on only one thing: We are the 99% vs the 1%.
http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/ )
I love the idea of protests. I think that we haven’t done enough of them in last twenty years. I think that a lot of hope can be fostered, and a lot of information can be spread.
If you’re on twitter, check out #occupydenver or #occupywallst for up to date information on what’s going on.
And as always, if you’re protesting, write a lawyer’s number somewhere on your body, drink plenty of water, and do nothing to disrespect or disrupt the marches/protests. Be respectful, peaceful, and wise.
Occupy Wall Street Protest: 12 Days and Little Sign of Slowing Down
Views On Parenthood (from 23)
I’m wholeheartedly certain that when I’m 33 and I read this post, I’ll have a good laugh.
I taught one of the twins how to swing the other day. She knew the basic pumping motions, but I showed her how to lean back and lean in and pretty soon she was flying above my head. I was filled with anxiety (what if she falls? is she okay?) but this wonderful sense of accomplishment (look at how happy she looks! she’s really doing it!). If that’s what parenthood is all about, I’ll take it.
On Fertility Rates in the US…
And yet they still want to stop providing family-planning services to our citizens? I vote free birth control for everyone! More sexual and health education! More paid paternity leave!
As a society, we need to step it up. Granted, we don’t want everyone having kids just because they can, but we need to better educate prospective parents about their options.
Knocked Up and Knocked Down
Why America’s widening fertility class divide is a problem.
Posted Monday, Sept. 26, 2011, at 4:14 PM ET
Are we experiencing a national fertility crisis?Since the average American woman has 2.1 children, you might think we aren’t experiencing a national fertility crisis. Unlike some European countries whose futures are threatened by low birth rates, Americans, on average, produce just the right number of future workers, soldiers, and taxpayers to keep our society humming. Our families are also, on average, comfortably smaller than those in some developing countries, where high birthrates help keep women and children severely impoverished. But here’s the problem: Because the American fertility rate is an average, it obscures the fact that our country is actually more like two countries, which are now experiencing two different, serious crises.Across the reproductive divide, there are other serious problems. The declining fertility of professional women ought to be sounding an alarm, highlighting the extent to which our policies are deeply unfriendly to parents. Low birthrates in Europe have inspired a slew of policies designed to make it easier to simultaneously work and parent, yet here, because our overall birthrate is robust, we’ve had no such moment of reckoning. So while Germany recently responded to the fact that its birthrate had slipped below 1.4 children per woman by making its paid leave policy more generous, allowing mothers and fathers to split up to 18 months after the birth of a child, the United States still has no national paid leave law in place. And while Denmark, France, and Sweden provide good subsidized care to the vast majority of their populations, we still have no decent childcare system.
They are working longer and harder, shouldering new responsibilities for aging parents, and striving overtime to provide their children with all that they, in many cases, had lacked—a smooth path of success and both parents by their side. The costs are steep and include anxiety and exhaustion.
With growing poverty rates and political attacks on already inadequate family-planning funding threatening to drive the number of unintended pregnancies among poor women even higher, and little effort being made to address the pressures driving other women away from having kids, it’s easy to imagine how these forces could push professionals and poor women further apart. Still, in their own ways, both are struggling with the same problem: an untenable “choice” between children and financial solvency. At this point, it may be the only thing they have in common.
On Moving Very Slowly
The American Dream is a bunch of bullshit.
We all know that, but do we really know it?
No, of course not. The idea that upward mobility exists and that some day I too can own a house that has a four-car garage if only I work hard enough is cemented in my mind.
Blame the media, blame optimism, blame whatever.
We watched as tiny little bungalows morphed into giant, sprawling houses with three-car garages. Those giant homes became the norm. Suburban settlement at its finest. You’ve made it.
For the record, I dream of owning a tired, old house and turning it into something magical. I love old wooden floors that creak and leaky faucets and the idea that so many people have lived there before you. I love the cramped rooms, the feel of warm rugs on worn floors. I want that. My only requirement is a sweet bathtub.
But at the same time, I’m threatened by the idea of never having enough.
What is enough?
To live, to love (and to be loved), and to breathe in every beautiful moment that I can find. But also to someday have a garage (not four!).
For the next month, I’m going to try to implement small changes that will hopefully make me a bit more optimistic about my current situation. Lately, I’ve been wallowing in the pit of despair that is these months and I feel as though my wallowing is only making it worse.
I’m determined to be a little bit more hopeful, rather than so exhausted. So we’ll see. (Start taking bets now about when I’ll have my next “oh my g-d, what am I doing with my life” miniature meltdown)
Also, for the record, I am super awesome and got a raise at work! Friday was yearly reviews. I was terrified. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I was a really well-behaved child or the fact that my generation was super coddled, but either way, I don’t take criticism well. (My wonderful lady-boss popped into my office on Friday morning and told me not to worry, and after that, I didn’t. She really made my day with that.)
My boss offered me a 5% raise. I requested more. He came back with an offer of 12.5%. Of course I took it. I was so proud of myself for being super calm and absolutely realistic and logical about the whole thing.
Baby steps, dear world. I am taking baby steps. But at least I’m moving.
On the Death Penalty
I am against the death penalty. I don’t think that anyone should be killed for their crimes, no matter how heinous. I believe that the presence of doubt, the potential for human error, and the predilections toward bias affect the outcome of every single thing people do. Therefore, there is no impartial jury, no impartial judge, no impartial anything.
I understand the innate desire for revenge, the “eye for an eye” mentality, the satisfaction of schadenfreude. But to kill another human being? You play g-d. You take on a responsibility that is not yours. If your g-d will judge the guilty, why should you? Punish them, lock them away, but do not take their lives.
Some good news before the bad news:
Death penalty
Capital account
Read also: “A death in Georgia“
Troy Davis executed, supporters cry injustice
(CBS/AP)
High Court rejects Troy Davis’ last minute appeal
Troy Davis’ last words: I’m innocent
White supremacist executed in Texas
The slow death of the death penalty?
(Credit: AP)


