Take a moment to look in the mirror. Seriously. Right this second. Don't worry, I'll wait.
So. What did you see? If you had to describe yourself to a police sketch artist, would it turn out something like this?
Why does this happen? For that matter, why do we fight so hard to prevent wrinkles from appearing? Why do we spend millions of dollars to make ourselves look like Barbie dolls when we are already likely beautiful as we are? Why do some people approve of adding plastic surgery to what is already beautiful? Why do we hate ourselves?
I'm of two minds with this. On the one hand, I'm appalled that women in general do not think they are beautiful. According to an article I read on Yahoo this morning, only 4% of women around the world would describe themselves as beautiful. I can definitely say I would not. Matt would disagree. He even thinks I'm beautiful when I'm barfing. He may be deluded. I'm not sure. I know that what I see in the mirror is not what other people see when they look at me. I see tiny eyes because I wear glasses, and I feel that I have an enormous nose, and my jaw isn't really there because I have a fat face because I'm overweight. And that's just me. What about all those women out there who hate the way they look so much they butcher themselves to fix it? And what if the results are worse? Do they go through surgery after surgery, hoping that somehow, some way, they eventually become satisfied with what they see in the mirror? And then there's the concern that they may never be satisfied at all.
However, I said I was of two minds on this issue, and I've only talked about my first opinion. My second opinion is that of course women and girls hate themselves! Look at what we are bombarded with every day! At the grocery store, it's airbrushed, plucked, trimmed, made up perfection on the covers of magazines, reminding us that we will never, ever look like Jessica Alba. Our hair will never be smooth or thick enough, our faces will never be clear enough, our breasts never perky enough, and we will never, ever be thin enough. We are never enough. That is the message that is conveyed, very clearly, to every woman who has ever entered a grocery store or read a magazine or spent any time watching television or using the internet. Diet commercials. Hair dye commercials. Clothing ads with models whose thighs are skinnier than my forearms. Victoria's Secret, which doesn't even go up to my cup size. New tricks to lose some weight so we may be acceptable and loved. We don't deserve love because we don't look like Jessica Alba.
You know what? That's bullshit. So what if I don't look like Jessica Alba? So what if my weight is probably twice hers? (I may be estimating high, but she's so tiny.) Why am I not beautiful? Why don't we describe ourselves as beautiful? Would that be too full of ourselves? Are we that concerned about what other people think?
Look in the mirror. Find something you like about your face. After you do that, I want you to do something radical. Find something you like about every single aspect of your face. I want you to do that until you like your whole face. Don't worry. I'll try it, too. I think we're all going to be sobbing at mirrors and confusing the people in our lives very soon. But hey. You are beautiful. You are strong and you are wise.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
My Garbage Disposal Wants to Eat Me (Or Why Plumbers Are Rich)
I am not good at getting things done today. I am making coffee. I got distracted by the notes I left for myself all over my whiteboard and noticed that I listed off a couple things I wanted to write about in my blog. So, twofer! If I remember to post it. Oh god.
Anyway. I wanted to write about garbage disposals.
I happen to have one. Fortunately, I do not have two, or seven, or 23 of them. Just one. One is plenty.
Why is one garbage disposal plenty? Because I'm terrified of my garbage disposal. It makes the sink vibrate. It makes scary growling noises. It crunches. It makes weird smells and then I'm forced to buy lemons and toss those down there to fix the smells. This is also terrifying because the garbage disposal doesn't seem to like lemon peels and the whole sink shudders horribly every time I have to use a lemon to counteract the garbage disposal's desperate need to have a funk cloud fill my home. I do not enjoy this experience.
My least favorite part about having my garbage disposal is turning it on, and that is because I have to practically climb into the sink to reach the switch to turn the disposal on, and then, because I'm terrified of my garbage disposal, I must leap away from it as quickly as possible before its monster teeth come out and drag me in by the hair. I do not want to die by garbage disposal. After it has finished eviscerating all the gross stuff that fell into it and hopefully none of my spoons, I must leap over the sink and hit the switch to turn it off. I repeat, I must extend my person over the opening to the scary death monster that lives in my sink so I can make it go away. This is not fair.
Another reason I hate my garbage disposal is because I am fearful of it spitting tiny chunks of nasty stuff into the air. I am absolutely convinced that one of these days, the garbage disposal is going to barf all over the kitchen and then I will be stuck cleaning up garbage disposal barf, which is a million times worse than people barf or dog barf. I might not even be able to do it. If my garbage disposal ever barfed all over my kitchen, I'd probably have to just move rather than deal with that mess. (Also, to illustrate how strong my stomach is, I am currently eating breakfast while writing about this.) And I would have to leave all of my stuff behind, and I really like my stuff, so I hope my garbage disposal never decides it hates me enough to barf all over.
Also, there should be some sort of mesh thingy that can be moved out of the way to allow garbage to fall into it that sits above the flappy things. That way, my whole arm doesn't have to enter the garbage disposal EVER, and I will never have to worry about my silverware falling into the garbage disposal I'm afraid to look into ever again. Actually, I think I could buy something like that. It would be an extra step in cleaning the kitchen, but it might just be worth it to avoid the horror of having to stick my arm into the sink monster to pull out a spoon that cost less than 50 cents.
There is also a silly reason for my fear of the garbage disposal, which stems from my love of Stephen King. The first book I ever read by Stephen King was It, and I have reread it probably about 5 times, considering I read it for the first about 12 years ago, and I reread it about once every other year. Because I have read this book so much, I'm pretty familiar with the story. There is a part in this book involving a sink and a monster in the sink and a lot of blood. In fact, the scary stuff in the book mostly takes place near drains and things like that. Anyway, I don't know if you noticed, but I have an overactive imagination. This has caused me to terrify myself on a fairly regular basis, usually at night. My imagination would like to convince me that the garbage disposal is actually a monster that is going to come out and eat me or try to drag me in and eat me with magic. Logically, I know that this is not true, but my imagination disagrees and would like to inform me that if my coffee cup's eyes are looking behind me, there is a demonic farmer with really gross overalls holding a pitchfork standing there waiting for me to turn around so he may look at me while he kills me. This is part of why I try to suppress my imagination a little bit, because I really would simply stop sleeping. But I digress.
So, because of these reasons (fears?), I do not run my garbage disposal often. Because I am terrified of it. If there have been a lot of dishes lately, or if I've had to wash all of my dishes because I am overwhelmed by school and the first thing to go is the dishes until I completely run out of glasses and bowls (my current predicament), a large quantity of gross stuff makes its way into my garbage disposal all at once (or sometimes over time due to the lack of diligence in washing my dishes). Anyway, there's build up. And I hate running the garbage disposal if anything dishes related is in the sink. That means all of the dishes in the sink must either be removed to a different location or washed before I am willing to attempt to run the disposal. This further lowers the instances of running the garbage disposal, and makes the disposal unhappy and icky, but the vibration of the sink makes everything clatter and crash and that is also terrifying because of the violence of the clattering. Due to these (probably totally rational) fears, my garbage disposal is currently blocking the right side of the sink's ability to drain water. What this means is that the garbage disposal fills up with water, and because there's a lot of gunk in there, it's draining slowly, and because it's draining slowly and I'm washing a cup or a bowl so I can have some coffee and breakfast before I run around like a headless chicken all day, my sink starts to fill with water. Fortunately, it's not nasty garbage disposal water or I'd have to move. But this does cause problems if I'm trying to wash multiple things or get a dent in the dishes. I'm very lucky in that it is still at least draining, but if I don't run the disposal soon, that will become a distant memory.
I would be much happier living somewhere that had a dishwasher and no disposal. I can handle dumping the sink strainer into the trash. I am good with that concept. Apparently I am not good with the concept of turning on a scary, loud machine that will chew up the food I did not eat.
And this is why plumbers are rich.
Anyway. I wanted to write about garbage disposals.
I happen to have one. Fortunately, I do not have two, or seven, or 23 of them. Just one. One is plenty.
Why is one garbage disposal plenty? Because I'm terrified of my garbage disposal. It makes the sink vibrate. It makes scary growling noises. It crunches. It makes weird smells and then I'm forced to buy lemons and toss those down there to fix the smells. This is also terrifying because the garbage disposal doesn't seem to like lemon peels and the whole sink shudders horribly every time I have to use a lemon to counteract the garbage disposal's desperate need to have a funk cloud fill my home. I do not enjoy this experience.
My least favorite part about having my garbage disposal is turning it on, and that is because I have to practically climb into the sink to reach the switch to turn the disposal on, and then, because I'm terrified of my garbage disposal, I must leap away from it as quickly as possible before its monster teeth come out and drag me in by the hair. I do not want to die by garbage disposal. After it has finished eviscerating all the gross stuff that fell into it and hopefully none of my spoons, I must leap over the sink and hit the switch to turn it off. I repeat, I must extend my person over the opening to the scary death monster that lives in my sink so I can make it go away. This is not fair.
Another reason I hate my garbage disposal is because I am fearful of it spitting tiny chunks of nasty stuff into the air. I am absolutely convinced that one of these days, the garbage disposal is going to barf all over the kitchen and then I will be stuck cleaning up garbage disposal barf, which is a million times worse than people barf or dog barf. I might not even be able to do it. If my garbage disposal ever barfed all over my kitchen, I'd probably have to just move rather than deal with that mess. (Also, to illustrate how strong my stomach is, I am currently eating breakfast while writing about this.) And I would have to leave all of my stuff behind, and I really like my stuff, so I hope my garbage disposal never decides it hates me enough to barf all over.
Also, there should be some sort of mesh thingy that can be moved out of the way to allow garbage to fall into it that sits above the flappy things. That way, my whole arm doesn't have to enter the garbage disposal EVER, and I will never have to worry about my silverware falling into the garbage disposal I'm afraid to look into ever again. Actually, I think I could buy something like that. It would be an extra step in cleaning the kitchen, but it might just be worth it to avoid the horror of having to stick my arm into the sink monster to pull out a spoon that cost less than 50 cents.
There is also a silly reason for my fear of the garbage disposal, which stems from my love of Stephen King. The first book I ever read by Stephen King was It, and I have reread it probably about 5 times, considering I read it for the first about 12 years ago, and I reread it about once every other year. Because I have read this book so much, I'm pretty familiar with the story. There is a part in this book involving a sink and a monster in the sink and a lot of blood. In fact, the scary stuff in the book mostly takes place near drains and things like that. Anyway, I don't know if you noticed, but I have an overactive imagination. This has caused me to terrify myself on a fairly regular basis, usually at night. My imagination would like to convince me that the garbage disposal is actually a monster that is going to come out and eat me or try to drag me in and eat me with magic. Logically, I know that this is not true, but my imagination disagrees and would like to inform me that if my coffee cup's eyes are looking behind me, there is a demonic farmer with really gross overalls holding a pitchfork standing there waiting for me to turn around so he may look at me while he kills me. This is part of why I try to suppress my imagination a little bit, because I really would simply stop sleeping. But I digress.
So, because of these reasons (fears?), I do not run my garbage disposal often. Because I am terrified of it. If there have been a lot of dishes lately, or if I've had to wash all of my dishes because I am overwhelmed by school and the first thing to go is the dishes until I completely run out of glasses and bowls (my current predicament), a large quantity of gross stuff makes its way into my garbage disposal all at once (or sometimes over time due to the lack of diligence in washing my dishes). Anyway, there's build up. And I hate running the garbage disposal if anything dishes related is in the sink. That means all of the dishes in the sink must either be removed to a different location or washed before I am willing to attempt to run the disposal. This further lowers the instances of running the garbage disposal, and makes the disposal unhappy and icky, but the vibration of the sink makes everything clatter and crash and that is also terrifying because of the violence of the clattering. Due to these (probably totally rational) fears, my garbage disposal is currently blocking the right side of the sink's ability to drain water. What this means is that the garbage disposal fills up with water, and because there's a lot of gunk in there, it's draining slowly, and because it's draining slowly and I'm washing a cup or a bowl so I can have some coffee and breakfast before I run around like a headless chicken all day, my sink starts to fill with water. Fortunately, it's not nasty garbage disposal water or I'd have to move. But this does cause problems if I'm trying to wash multiple things or get a dent in the dishes. I'm very lucky in that it is still at least draining, but if I don't run the disposal soon, that will become a distant memory.
I would be much happier living somewhere that had a dishwasher and no disposal. I can handle dumping the sink strainer into the trash. I am good with that concept. Apparently I am not good with the concept of turning on a scary, loud machine that will chew up the food I did not eat.
And this is why plumbers are rich.
Insomnia
So I figure I may as well write something rather than mindlessly click through things for hours and hours and suddenly it's 2 AM and I hate myself. I should be sleeping right now, but I'm so awake you could probably use my eyeballs as reflectors. I have no idea what I even did.
Today, I ate fruit salad and cereal and coffee, quesadillas, hamburger rice, fruit salad, cheese wontons, fruit salad, and chai tea.
I like fruit salad.
I think the chai may be why I am awake.
I like data entry way too much. I should probably explain this. I am taking a class that teaches the basic functions (plus some extra) of several Microsoft Office programs - Word, Excel, Access, and PowerPoint. We're currently on the Access unit, and there's a project with it because we're supposed to do projects to show we get the concept. Well, I needed a minimum of 25 records for the main data table, and an appropriate corresponding number of records for other tables (I have to have at least two, or there's no point in using Access), and I'm choosing to do my project based off my Amazon book wishlists, but since I want to buy 825 books, I narrowed that down to a little over 200 books, printed off a few pages of various wishlists (I have anal-retentively organized my wishlists by genre because there are so many books), and from there, I got it down to 194 books and 118 authors. I also had to manually look up the ISBNs for all of those books, whether they were hardcover or paperback, and in some cases, how much they cost. I've been working on this for three days.
Anyway. This is what I have been doing. And I've been enjoying myself. This is fun for me. Fun to the point that I am pretending my other homework doesn't exist because I fear responsibility even though Matt says he's dating a valedictorian, but I'm not sure I want to be a valedictorian, but I can't accept less than perfection because then I am a failure. I know that's not logical, but it's how my brain has decided I will view college and I'm not sure how to go back and fix it so it stop doing that.
Anyway, I really like data entry and find it quite enjoyable. I am a freak of nature. Unfortunately, I have run out of data to enter because I don't want to overwhelm myself with data, but I also felt that in order to get a meaningful database, I was going to need more than 25 records or whatever. At least I'll get the extra credit for having over 100 items in one table. I wonder if they will give me the extra credit twice since both tables have over 100 items in them.
I say that word that begins with A too much. I really should find a different kind of segue. I am actually not a bad writer, but it is 1:00 in the morning and I am exhausted and wired and I do better with formal writing. I am kind of awful at casual writing, I don't know what to write, and this is why I will never be a famous blogger.
Insomnia is a horrible thing to have. I have class in the morning and I have to take the bus to work tomorrow because I think Matt is busy or possibly unwilling and he should definitely be working on his research paper because he didn't even start research on it until last week and he has known about it all semester. I have no sympathy for him. I shouldn't have sympathy for me, either. I have been procrastinating on my presentation project for days. I think I just don't want to do it. I don't know why I don't want to do it.
My entire existence is completely wrapped up in school at the moment. I don't know how I feel about this realization. My owl coffee mug is staring behind me and to the left, and it's freaking me out and making me think that someone is there, lurking with a big knife or a chainsaw or a spiky gardening tool and once I turn around that will be my last moment and oh GOD why did I think of that because now I really will never sleep again and I won't even have the option of walking over to Matt's because I will be too terrified of homicidal farmers to go outside until it is no longer dark.
I need to make more fruit salad. Or eat some vegetables. I've been mostly eating fruit for the last two days, but the day before that I ate an insane amount of vegetables. I need to make a grocery list so I can torture Matt with food shopping. I'm sure he will be delighted. But it must happen. Fruits and veggies must come home with me and climb in my tummy and be happy. Especially cauliflower. And fruit salad. That I make. I am terrific like that. Every time I type "fruit salad" I think of the Wiggles song. Thank you Joseph.
Okay, well, I should probably finish posting this or something or click the publish button, that is where I was going with that. I have to try to sleep. Now that I am thinking about the Wiggles rather than terrifying things. But this is such an earworm. If you don't know that word, you are a poop.
BOOYA.
I don't know why I wrote that.
Today, I ate fruit salad and cereal and coffee, quesadillas, hamburger rice, fruit salad, cheese wontons, fruit salad, and chai tea.
I like fruit salad.
I think the chai may be why I am awake.
I like data entry way too much. I should probably explain this. I am taking a class that teaches the basic functions (plus some extra) of several Microsoft Office programs - Word, Excel, Access, and PowerPoint. We're currently on the Access unit, and there's a project with it because we're supposed to do projects to show we get the concept. Well, I needed a minimum of 25 records for the main data table, and an appropriate corresponding number of records for other tables (I have to have at least two, or there's no point in using Access), and I'm choosing to do my project based off my Amazon book wishlists, but since I want to buy 825 books, I narrowed that down to a little over 200 books, printed off a few pages of various wishlists (I have anal-retentively organized my wishlists by genre because there are so many books), and from there, I got it down to 194 books and 118 authors. I also had to manually look up the ISBNs for all of those books, whether they were hardcover or paperback, and in some cases, how much they cost. I've been working on this for three days.
Anyway. This is what I have been doing. And I've been enjoying myself. This is fun for me. Fun to the point that I am pretending my other homework doesn't exist because I fear responsibility even though Matt says he's dating a valedictorian, but I'm not sure I want to be a valedictorian, but I can't accept less than perfection because then I am a failure. I know that's not logical, but it's how my brain has decided I will view college and I'm not sure how to go back and fix it so it stop doing that.
Anyway, I really like data entry and find it quite enjoyable. I am a freak of nature. Unfortunately, I have run out of data to enter because I don't want to overwhelm myself with data, but I also felt that in order to get a meaningful database, I was going to need more than 25 records or whatever. At least I'll get the extra credit for having over 100 items in one table. I wonder if they will give me the extra credit twice since both tables have over 100 items in them.
I say that word that begins with A too much. I really should find a different kind of segue. I am actually not a bad writer, but it is 1:00 in the morning and I am exhausted and wired and I do better with formal writing. I am kind of awful at casual writing, I don't know what to write, and this is why I will never be a famous blogger.
Insomnia is a horrible thing to have. I have class in the morning and I have to take the bus to work tomorrow because I think Matt is busy or possibly unwilling and he should definitely be working on his research paper because he didn't even start research on it until last week and he has known about it all semester. I have no sympathy for him. I shouldn't have sympathy for me, either. I have been procrastinating on my presentation project for days. I think I just don't want to do it. I don't know why I don't want to do it.
My entire existence is completely wrapped up in school at the moment. I don't know how I feel about this realization. My owl coffee mug is staring behind me and to the left, and it's freaking me out and making me think that someone is there, lurking with a big knife or a chainsaw or a spiky gardening tool and once I turn around that will be my last moment and oh GOD why did I think of that because now I really will never sleep again and I won't even have the option of walking over to Matt's because I will be too terrified of homicidal farmers to go outside until it is no longer dark.
I need to make more fruit salad. Or eat some vegetables. I've been mostly eating fruit for the last two days, but the day before that I ate an insane amount of vegetables. I need to make a grocery list so I can torture Matt with food shopping. I'm sure he will be delighted. But it must happen. Fruits and veggies must come home with me and climb in my tummy and be happy. Especially cauliflower. And fruit salad. That I make. I am terrific like that. Every time I type "fruit salad" I think of the Wiggles song. Thank you Joseph.
Okay, well, I should probably finish posting this or something or click the publish button, that is where I was going with that. I have to try to sleep. Now that I am thinking about the Wiggles rather than terrifying things. But this is such an earworm. If you don't know that word, you are a poop.
BOOYA.
I don't know why I wrote that.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Service Workers Are Not People
This post was catalyzed by this letter on Imgur.
"If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."
I judge people by how they treat me when I am at work. If they are awful to me because they think they can be, I know what kind of person they really are, and it is not kind. I think working in the service industry has taught me how to be a good person by virtue of showing me how I could be perceived by my treatment of others. I am not perfect, and I am not always nice. I also expect excellent service when I patronize businesses, but I would never, ever demoralize another human being like so many do. I deserve to be treated like a person with feelings, and I should not have to accept less because I'm wearing a nametag and scanning things for you to take home.
This is why I am going to college. Sometimes I forget and wonder why I'm bothering with all of this work and stress, but it is because I would like to be treated with respect when I am in public. I am tired of being forced to accept that on a semi-regular basis, I will be called names, cursed at, have things thrown at me, be threatened with physical assault, and have drunk people screaming vulgarities in my face. I have to smile and put up with that because to do anything else could get me fired, and I need to remain employed. I am perpetuating the culture that it is okay to treat me and other service workers that way, because I have no other choice.
Unfortunately, the veneer is cracking. I occasionally don't let people get away with saying some things to me. A man recently said something rude to me about how I need to be grateful for my job because I was joking about how tired I was, and rather than smile and be nice to him and change the subject to safer ground, I simply stopped talking to him. I do not have to be grateful like a dog because I barely make $8 an hour. Yeah, I don't make much right now because I'm going to school and only work 3 days a week, but $8 an hour is still basically nothing. If I had a car, I wouldn't be able to pay for it or car insurance. I make enough to cover my bills and buy supplemental groceries now that I no longer have food stamps. (Because I'm a college student, I obviously don't need any food to fuel my body or anything.) If I didn't pay rent in giant chunks with my student loan money, I wouldn't be able to afford the rent and I'd be homeless by now.
People have nearly hit me with shopping carts, demanded that I smile at them, gotten me fired because I didn't thank them for their purchase, thrown drinks at me, allowed their child to throw things at me, threatened me with physical harm, grabbed my breasts, made me cry, cursed at me, and many many other things over the years. It has been made very plain to me that I do not matter, and I am tired of it. What happened to treating others with kindness? What happened to "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? What about basic human decency?
Why is it okay to be rude to service workers?
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