Disturbing fact: Corporations are people, or at least have the same legal rights as people. This is nothing new. This has been discussed exhaustively.
What hasn’t been discussed is disturbing fact number two: Corporations gained personhood about a year before women could vote.
What the fuck? I officially feel more demeaned than I have in a long time.
Showing posts with label pissed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pissed. Show all posts
Sexy tots
Here's an article from CNN about how sexy our little girls are getting. I must say I agree with most of what he said. Working in schools and the library I see so many girls dressed inappropriately. Some are with their other inappropriate friends and some are with their inappropriate moms, which explains a lot. But some are with their moms who are dressed like a grandma. Those I really don't understand.
Now that I am a mom, I have started thinking about my dress and where I shop. I am a professional business woman, mom and twenty-something. I have a difficult balance to strike between looking like an idiotic fifty-something out of the 1940s and looking like I belong on a college campus prowling for a lay. Sadly, my size makes it easier to buy the trampy things more than the appropriate things.
I want to look stylish, young and hip, but also appropriate for my business place and to be someone's mom. Though I take care of my body and think it is pretty decent to look at, the fact is that I am not on the prowl for a lay. When I am I put something lacy and indecent on at home and pose seductively until my husband notices (or actually I wear a bathrobe or pjs or something and say, "Hey, you want some?"). So, if I am not prowling, and I would like my son to respect women, then mighten I dress not like a tramp?
I wish a few more moms would take this approach. Or at least tell their 8 year-olds that they are an adult and the dress is different so pick the shorts that go to their knees, the sweats with no writing on the ass, and the shirt that loosely covers their whole torso. I hate feeling like a skeezy person because I glance at an elementary student and see club clothes that scream fuck me.
Now that I am a mom, I have started thinking about my dress and where I shop. I am a professional business woman, mom and twenty-something. I have a difficult balance to strike between looking like an idiotic fifty-something out of the 1940s and looking like I belong on a college campus prowling for a lay. Sadly, my size makes it easier to buy the trampy things more than the appropriate things.
I want to look stylish, young and hip, but also appropriate for my business place and to be someone's mom. Though I take care of my body and think it is pretty decent to look at, the fact is that I am not on the prowl for a lay. When I am I put something lacy and indecent on at home and pose seductively until my husband notices (or actually I wear a bathrobe or pjs or something and say, "Hey, you want some?"). So, if I am not prowling, and I would like my son to respect women, then mighten I dress not like a tramp?
I wish a few more moms would take this approach. Or at least tell their 8 year-olds that they are an adult and the dress is different so pick the shorts that go to their knees, the sweats with no writing on the ass, and the shirt that loosely covers their whole torso. I hate feeling like a skeezy person because I glance at an elementary student and see club clothes that scream fuck me.
Geeky wrath
So, I just read a review of The Game of Thrones TV series that is on HBO, in the New York Times. And it was awful. It has angered me, a lot, for many reasons. Some of these reasons are that the article implies that I can't like fantasy without there being erotic scenes because I am a woman. It also implies that something like this show is too complicated for me to follow so I should stick to reruns of Sex and the City, because I am a woman. It is a terribly done review where it mentions next to nothing about the show itself, like characters and plot, etc and it implies that there are dwarfs in the show a la Lord of the Rings. There are not. There is a dwarf, who is a small person like what we have in reality.
As a woman and a major fan of the series I am greatly offended. But as a person who can string words and ideas together, and who writes reviews, I am also offended.
Also, it was written by a woman strangely enough. A woman who I believe has never actually seen the show, has definitely never read even the back cover of the book, and who probably harbors some weird hatred of fantasy lit in general. I bet she wasn't cool enough to play D&D in high school and this is her way of getting back.
As a woman and a major fan of the series I am greatly offended. But as a person who can string words and ideas together, and who writes reviews, I am also offended.
Also, it was written by a woman strangely enough. A woman who I believe has never actually seen the show, has definitely never read even the back cover of the book, and who probably harbors some weird hatred of fantasy lit in general. I bet she wasn't cool enough to play D&D in high school and this is her way of getting back.
Oyi
So, the Brontes are now so big that I can not cross my arms like a normal person. I have to either cross them really high and keep them above the Brontes, which makes me look like a petulant child. Or I can cross them really low under my new enormous ladies where my arms don't actually cross as much as overlap a little, which makes me look like a scared and awkward virgin.
Neither are pleasing which sucks because I use to cross my arms a lot.
The good news is my naming them seems to be working well and made this post a lot more fun to write!
Neither are pleasing which sucks because I use to cross my arms a lot.
The good news is my naming them seems to be working well and made this post a lot more fun to write!
I'm a damp, itchy person
Part II of the wonderment of yeast. Thrush in the baby's mouth. Yeast all over my boobs and within. Seriously, this is miserable. I never thought I would love him suckling my bosom so much, but his suction is the most perfect scratching device. Nothing scratches my sore boobs the way he does which is weird but I am beyond caring.
I am a bit tired of constantly leaking milk and itching all over the place. Ugh. Then, today, my eye started to itch and I panicked that the yeast was in my eye. I am not sure if that is possible, and the eye itch has gone away, but it really freaked me out in the moment.
I am a bit tired of constantly leaking milk and itching all over the place. Ugh. Then, today, my eye started to itch and I panicked that the yeast was in my eye. I am not sure if that is possible, and the eye itch has gone away, but it really freaked me out in the moment.
Birth story
I've a harrowing tale to tell and I've no idea how I feel about it. I am officially a mother now. I have a tiny little man who depends on me for just about everything and all he offers in return are the softest cheeks for kisses that have ever been felt and the sweetest snuggles. It seems fair enough now. We'll see how I feel about it in 16 years or so when his cheeks are no longer soft and I have to bail him out of jail for whatever he did that weekend.
Anyways, the birth did not turn out how I had planned. For a variety of reasons I was very serious about a natural birth. I took many classes about how to succeed with it. I planned, I practiced, I read the research on why I was making the absolutely best decision, I talked about it, and I felt good about it. I was not afraid of the pain or the procedure to come. My only fear was that things outside my control would go wrong and I would end up with a c-section. However, the research I did made me feel like that wouldn't happen. I refused induction methods, pain medicine, my water being broken and many other things that lead women to have c-sections. Mr. Neruda and I felt confident in our decisions and in their effectiveness.
Then I went into labor. It started slow. Really slow. My water cracked rather than broke and slowly trickled out for hours. I labored at home for 14 hours before we went to the hospital because my contractions never went faster than 5 mins apart. Finally, due to the imminent blizzard we went to the hospital with them about 5-4 mins apart. Respectable I thought.
Things picked up speed some after we arrived. I really zoomed toward a 6 or so and then things fizzled. The contractions hurt. They hurt a lot and were extremely exhausting. I kept trying different positions to see what would relieve some of the pain and stress. I found two positions that I liked the most, one of which was suppose to be great for getting the little toot to enter the birth canal.
I was mostly able to use my training to keep myself ahead of the pain and not panic during them. However, I got myself stuck at about an 8 and couldn't progress any further. That lasted for six hours. Even though I wasn't dilating more my contractions were becoming fierce. They were about 2 1/2 to 3 mins long with only 30 second breaks in between. I was okay with this because I knew the next time I was checked they would say 9 or 10 and we would begin the ending of this whole ordeal. I still felt empowered and able at that point, but I was wearing down fast.
My breaking point came when she checked me again and said that I was still not quite an 8 and that nothing had changed for 6 hours. He wasn't in the birth canal and the doctor felt that he was too big to ever enter the canal much less come out. She felt I was not going to progress any further. She said I could try for a while longer, but there was meconium in the water and she was positive I wasn't going to get any closer to delivery.
That news was crumbling. Maybe I should have tried longer and I could have gotten there eventually. However, that news was devastating and the pain was intolerable. It was tolerable when I was going somewhere but became completely intolerable when I knew it was for nothing. The nurses and doctor left the room so Mr. Neruda and I could talk it out. I was willing to continue if he felt it worth a try and I definitely needed encouragement and someone feeling like it was worth it for me to continue. However, he immediately thought it was time to call it quits and get us both out of it safely. I added up the 30 hours I had been in labor and decided that maybe we should call it quits.
I was then rushed into a c-section, which was one of the scariest things of my life. Everything happened so fast after that. Many were very rough me while I was still having contractions. I don't blame them, they were all in a hurry, it just hurt so bad and made things seem worse. The spinal block that I received was painful at first and terrifying, having a giant needle stuck into my spine. The worst part was that it kept creeping up my body numbing my arms and made me begin to pass out a bit. Apparently gravity can pull it down into my head if I am at a bad angle. The upside to doing the c-section the way I did was that the drug seemed to not effect Huxley at all. Since it had only been in my body for about 5 mins before they started cutting into me I don't think it had time to get into the womb. He came out incredibly alert which is exactly what we wanted.
I honestly don't know how to feel about the whole experience. A part of me feels like a failure. I really had the whole thing planned out and I had the power of my beliefs backing me. I do feel like it went wrong. My body was inferior to what it should have been and that is saddening. It also makes me feel powerless. I can train and train for a marathon or just keep pushing myself no matter what when doing other physical activities, but there was nothing I could do about this situation. I had limits and they caused me to fail.
I have heard of women having PTSD after getting a c-section, especially if they really wanted a natural birth. There is a way I can understand that feeling, however, I choose to focus on the fact that he came out perfectly healthy, that I didn't die or have any lasting damage, and that I was in labor for about 30 hours before giving up. I didn't feel a contraction and crumble, I put in the good fight. I was beaten but I tried hard. There are moments when I get very sad and defeated feeling, but I think they have more to do with my crazy hormones and things right now rather than with deeper seeded feelings.
I don't know for certain how I feel, but I thought I would just share how Hux came to be.
Anyways, the birth did not turn out how I had planned. For a variety of reasons I was very serious about a natural birth. I took many classes about how to succeed with it. I planned, I practiced, I read the research on why I was making the absolutely best decision, I talked about it, and I felt good about it. I was not afraid of the pain or the procedure to come. My only fear was that things outside my control would go wrong and I would end up with a c-section. However, the research I did made me feel like that wouldn't happen. I refused induction methods, pain medicine, my water being broken and many other things that lead women to have c-sections. Mr. Neruda and I felt confident in our decisions and in their effectiveness.
Then I went into labor. It started slow. Really slow. My water cracked rather than broke and slowly trickled out for hours. I labored at home for 14 hours before we went to the hospital because my contractions never went faster than 5 mins apart. Finally, due to the imminent blizzard we went to the hospital with them about 5-4 mins apart. Respectable I thought.
Things picked up speed some after we arrived. I really zoomed toward a 6 or so and then things fizzled. The contractions hurt. They hurt a lot and were extremely exhausting. I kept trying different positions to see what would relieve some of the pain and stress. I found two positions that I liked the most, one of which was suppose to be great for getting the little toot to enter the birth canal.
I was mostly able to use my training to keep myself ahead of the pain and not panic during them. However, I got myself stuck at about an 8 and couldn't progress any further. That lasted for six hours. Even though I wasn't dilating more my contractions were becoming fierce. They were about 2 1/2 to 3 mins long with only 30 second breaks in between. I was okay with this because I knew the next time I was checked they would say 9 or 10 and we would begin the ending of this whole ordeal. I still felt empowered and able at that point, but I was wearing down fast.
My breaking point came when she checked me again and said that I was still not quite an 8 and that nothing had changed for 6 hours. He wasn't in the birth canal and the doctor felt that he was too big to ever enter the canal much less come out. She felt I was not going to progress any further. She said I could try for a while longer, but there was meconium in the water and she was positive I wasn't going to get any closer to delivery.
That news was crumbling. Maybe I should have tried longer and I could have gotten there eventually. However, that news was devastating and the pain was intolerable. It was tolerable when I was going somewhere but became completely intolerable when I knew it was for nothing. The nurses and doctor left the room so Mr. Neruda and I could talk it out. I was willing to continue if he felt it worth a try and I definitely needed encouragement and someone feeling like it was worth it for me to continue. However, he immediately thought it was time to call it quits and get us both out of it safely. I added up the 30 hours I had been in labor and decided that maybe we should call it quits.
I was then rushed into a c-section, which was one of the scariest things of my life. Everything happened so fast after that. Many were very rough me while I was still having contractions. I don't blame them, they were all in a hurry, it just hurt so bad and made things seem worse. The spinal block that I received was painful at first and terrifying, having a giant needle stuck into my spine. The worst part was that it kept creeping up my body numbing my arms and made me begin to pass out a bit. Apparently gravity can pull it down into my head if I am at a bad angle. The upside to doing the c-section the way I did was that the drug seemed to not effect Huxley at all. Since it had only been in my body for about 5 mins before they started cutting into me I don't think it had time to get into the womb. He came out incredibly alert which is exactly what we wanted.
I honestly don't know how to feel about the whole experience. A part of me feels like a failure. I really had the whole thing planned out and I had the power of my beliefs backing me. I do feel like it went wrong. My body was inferior to what it should have been and that is saddening. It also makes me feel powerless. I can train and train for a marathon or just keep pushing myself no matter what when doing other physical activities, but there was nothing I could do about this situation. I had limits and they caused me to fail.
I have heard of women having PTSD after getting a c-section, especially if they really wanted a natural birth. There is a way I can understand that feeling, however, I choose to focus on the fact that he came out perfectly healthy, that I didn't die or have any lasting damage, and that I was in labor for about 30 hours before giving up. I didn't feel a contraction and crumble, I put in the good fight. I was beaten but I tried hard. There are moments when I get very sad and defeated feeling, but I think they have more to do with my crazy hormones and things right now rather than with deeper seeded feelings.
I don't know for certain how I feel, but I thought I would just share how Hux came to be.
Curse You Oklahoma!
Well, the Oscars have been announced which is always exciting fun. Until you read the list of nominations and see just how screwed we are in Oklahoma. Mr. Neruda and I are huge Oscar geeks. We like to try and watch all the Best Picture, Best Actor, and Best Actress films and then as many of the supporting as we can. Probably a waste of time and ridiculous, but it’s our thing.
However, this year we were thwarted. We really thought we were doing well. We have seen all but one Best Pic, missing the one Oklahoma denied us, and thought we had seen what would be all of the Actor and Actress films. Then the nominations came out with quite a few curve balls and we really don’t stand a chance. Rabbit Hole never came here and it won’t be on video before Oscar night. The same is true about Blue Valentine, 127 Hours, Biutiful, and Animal Kingdom. I am hopeful that Quail will finally get 127 Hours since they do the Best Pictures before Oscar night and Animal Kingdom should come out on DVD before the night. But for the rest we are simply screwed.
Stupid Oklahoma and its limited releases!!!! I hate being screwed (unless it is by Mr. Neruda, then it can be delightful!).
However, this year we were thwarted. We really thought we were doing well. We have seen all but one Best Pic, missing the one Oklahoma denied us, and thought we had seen what would be all of the Actor and Actress films. Then the nominations came out with quite a few curve balls and we really don’t stand a chance. Rabbit Hole never came here and it won’t be on video before Oscar night. The same is true about Blue Valentine, 127 Hours, Biutiful, and Animal Kingdom. I am hopeful that Quail will finally get 127 Hours since they do the Best Pictures before Oscar night and Animal Kingdom should come out on DVD before the night. But for the rest we are simply screwed.
Stupid Oklahoma and its limited releases!!!! I hate being screwed (unless it is by Mr. Neruda, then it can be delightful!).
Come on Hollywood!!!!!!!
In more news of ruining all my viewing pleasure, the maker of Vampire Diaries is going to revamp X-Files into a sexy teen paranormal investigation thing. I want to die. Can't we remake things that are older than a decade or so? These are things that do not need revamping, maybe ever, but certainly not anytime soon. What is wrong with Hollywood and where are all the orginal ideas?!?!?!?!?
Stupid article
Stupid article
SUCK!!!!!!!
Well suck! I went through caffeine withdraws like a good little pregnant woman when I found out that I was pregnant. I stopped drinking EVERYTHING, including my sinfully magical, and critical to my well being, Diet Coke. It sucked. It hurt. It was a real morale killer. But I soldiered through it and became a caffeine-free person.
Then I began craving ice cold, liquid refreshment like mad. It was all I could think about. I dreamed about it. I yearned for it with every fiber of my being. And then I found a loop hole. 7-11 Icee Drinks!
They taste like Coke. They are freezing. They are delicious. They are satisfying in a way I have never known. I have been in heaven for a few weeks now.
Then something occurred to me: How are these delicious treats made? Do they use real Coke products by any chance? Am I slowly (and satisfyingly) killing my baby?
I decided to research this conundrum like any self-respecting librarian should. Turns out those delicious frozen treats are just like drinking a large pop. They have caffeine running through every ice crystal.
So I am now off of them. I am now experiencing that wonderful headache that only caffeine deprivation can create. Because the normal pregnancy headaches just weren’t enough of a challenge.
Curses!
Then I began craving ice cold, liquid refreshment like mad. It was all I could think about. I dreamed about it. I yearned for it with every fiber of my being. And then I found a loop hole. 7-11 Icee Drinks!
They taste like Coke. They are freezing. They are delicious. They are satisfying in a way I have never known. I have been in heaven for a few weeks now.
Then something occurred to me: How are these delicious treats made? Do they use real Coke products by any chance? Am I slowly (and satisfyingly) killing my baby?
I decided to research this conundrum like any self-respecting librarian should. Turns out those delicious frozen treats are just like drinking a large pop. They have caffeine running through every ice crystal.
So I am now off of them. I am now experiencing that wonderful headache that only caffeine deprivation can create. Because the normal pregnancy headaches just weren’t enough of a challenge.
Curses!
Ode to Soda Pop
My dear, sweet, fizzy liquid, oh how I miss thee! I long for your burn and rush of flavor into my mouth. Sometimes I have difficulty controling myself when I am near someone holding a beautiful, curvatious bottle of soda. The kind that is fogged from being so cold on such a hot day with beads of sweat slowly trickling down its side. When I see that silver label of DC or that maroon label of DP I must painfully hold back physical violence towards these innocent drinkers. They can’t know what pain they inflict upon me. They are simple people simply trying to quench their own cravings.
I know there are caffeine-free drinks in the world. I have tried a lot of them. Grape soda pleased me for a few days, caffeine-free DC is a sad shell of its normal self, and I am frankly disheartened at this point. I miss the burn most of all and caffeine-free soda just doesn’t offer the edge of searing pain that DC does.
I hear people say, “Yeah, but only six months more.” And I want to punch them in the face. One, six months is a LONG time. Two, there are about nine months after that of caffeine-free breast feeding. I wish I could suffer the pain of pregnancy and delivery and that Mr. Neruda could suffer all the sacrifices of pregnancy. Life would be better to such a degree that I would dance a jig on the Library counter nude!
I know there are caffeine-free drinks in the world. I have tried a lot of them. Grape soda pleased me for a few days, caffeine-free DC is a sad shell of its normal self, and I am frankly disheartened at this point. I miss the burn most of all and caffeine-free soda just doesn’t offer the edge of searing pain that DC does.
I hear people say, “Yeah, but only six months more.” And I want to punch them in the face. One, six months is a LONG time. Two, there are about nine months after that of caffeine-free breast feeding. I wish I could suffer the pain of pregnancy and delivery and that Mr. Neruda could suffer all the sacrifices of pregnancy. Life would be better to such a degree that I would dance a jig on the Library counter nude!
Come on Ted's!
I ate at Ted's in Norman yesterday for the very first time. I am a little snobby about Ted's since I live a few blocks from the original, and apparently I am right to be so.
The cheese dip was not the same. I am just saying. But that was the least of my worries.
After having a lovely dinner with friends I went to the bathroom on my way out. The bathroom had a few shocks in store for me. First, was inside the mirror over the sinks there was a hallograph looking TV screen! I don't know how they did it but the TV was inside the mirror, which is kind of cool. However, it was set to ESPN in the ladies bathroom. I found that odd.
What I also found odd was that none of the bathroom stall doors had hooks on the back. Where is a gal suppose to hang her purse and coat and other things she doesn't want on the nasty bathroom floor.
In order to overcome this problem I went into the handicap stall where there was a changing table. However, the changing table had poop smeared on it. I was pretty annoyed.
Why can a restuarant afford to install a TV in the mirror, something that is completely useless for all but the minute it takes to wash your hands, but they can't afford to put hooks on the back of the stall doors? Really?
The cheese dip was not the same. I am just saying. But that was the least of my worries.
After having a lovely dinner with friends I went to the bathroom on my way out. The bathroom had a few shocks in store for me. First, was inside the mirror over the sinks there was a hallograph looking TV screen! I don't know how they did it but the TV was inside the mirror, which is kind of cool. However, it was set to ESPN in the ladies bathroom. I found that odd.
What I also found odd was that none of the bathroom stall doors had hooks on the back. Where is a gal suppose to hang her purse and coat and other things she doesn't want on the nasty bathroom floor.
In order to overcome this problem I went into the handicap stall where there was a changing table. However, the changing table had poop smeared on it. I was pretty annoyed.
Why can a restuarant afford to install a TV in the mirror, something that is completely useless for all but the minute it takes to wash your hands, but they can't afford to put hooks on the back of the stall doors? Really?
Not cool man, not cool
A man came into the library today to update his account information. He did not have proof of his address when he first got a card, but since he was fully vetted from the penitentiary he had a card with his information on it. He took it from around his neck and tossed it at me to check. There was a brown glob stuck to one side. That glob was poop.
I touched another person's poop!
I gagged. I pushed it back towards him. I smiled brightly and said we're done now, have a nice day. He walked away. I used sanitizer goo. I walked immediately to the bathroom and washed my hands . . . a lot. I then went back to the desk and used more sanitizer.
I am okay now.
I touched another person's poop!
I gagged. I pushed it back towards him. I smiled brightly and said we're done now, have a nice day. He walked away. I used sanitizer goo. I walked immediately to the bathroom and washed my hands . . . a lot. I then went back to the desk and used more sanitizer.
I am okay now.
Gosling juggling
Library patrons are like baby ducks and geese. Let me explain.
There is a whole sect of library patrons who seem to imprint on a specific librarian just like baby water fowl with their mommy-like-creature. They speak with a nice librarian who helps them put a book on hold or who finds their lost zip drive, etc. This is great. The patron gets the help they need and the librarian did their job. And then the patron imprints.
The patron then feels that the librarian they imprinted on is now the only librarian who is able to help them. When the book was put on hold and it comes in for pick up, the imprinted librarian is the only one who knows where the book is. There is no other librarian in the world who could possibly help them get it and use it.
Because we librarians love inefficiency and are the most unorganized people on the planet we feel that the best way to help the public is to divide them all into portions and then distribute them out to one appropriate librarian for the patron's convience. We then remain on-call 24-7 to help them with their personal needs because we are their personal librarian. We are similar to doctors really in both pay and availability.
You are welcome public, you little ducks and geese.
There is a whole sect of library patrons who seem to imprint on a specific librarian just like baby water fowl with their mommy-like-creature. They speak with a nice librarian who helps them put a book on hold or who finds their lost zip drive, etc. This is great. The patron gets the help they need and the librarian did their job. And then the patron imprints.
The patron then feels that the librarian they imprinted on is now the only librarian who is able to help them. When the book was put on hold and it comes in for pick up, the imprinted librarian is the only one who knows where the book is. There is no other librarian in the world who could possibly help them get it and use it.
Because we librarians love inefficiency and are the most unorganized people on the planet we feel that the best way to help the public is to divide them all into portions and then distribute them out to one appropriate librarian for the patron's convience. We then remain on-call 24-7 to help them with their personal needs because we are their personal librarian. We are similar to doctors really in both pay and availability.
You are welcome public, you little ducks and geese.
Ah, hail!
We just got our asses kicked by a crazy hail storm. I have not seen hail like that, or rain for that matter, in years.
We are talking golf ball and baseball sized. A lot.
Our garden did not fair well.
Neither did our front living room windows.
Here's an action shot!
Over all, there was a lot of hail. Some neighbors lost the back window of their car. We were lucky there. I hope our roof is okay.
The best part was, when we went outside to investigate, the backyard was strong with the smells of peppermint and lemon balm because herbs get smelly when you rub them (or hammer them with large ice balls).
We are talking golf ball and baseball sized. A lot.
Our garden did not fair well.
Neither did our front living room windows.
Here's an action shot!
Over all, there was a lot of hail. Some neighbors lost the back window of their car. We were lucky there. I hope our roof is okay.
The best part was, when we went outside to investigate, the backyard was strong with the smells of peppermint and lemon balm because herbs get smelly when you rub them (or hammer them with large ice balls).
Wacky movie stuff can happen
In the past I have hated watching movies full of ridiculous happenstances that put the characters into wacky situations. You know the ones, where they answer the phone and just begin talking expecting it to be one person and it is actually the person they are talking about,they lean against a car and it rolls backwards into the pond, etc.
I now have a new respect for those people and those happenstances. Sometimes the wacky can happen in real life.
Yesterday I had a situation at work that included my co-worker not doing their work correctly and deciding to blame me to my supervisor instead of taking responsibility for it. At work I was so upset that I could not speak without crying. I was furious, frustrated and more emotional than I have been in a long time. Because of these facts I did not feel comfortable talking with my supervisor in the hour left of the work day.
Instead, I began an email. I wrote the email using highly emotional language citing specific incidents of poor work by my co-worker and stating that I wished to never work with her on a project again. This was a venting exercise that was meant to help me get my thoughts in order before talking with my supervisor. It made me feel better and more able to talk with her.
However, when I went to the top to push save I actual hit the send button. That's right, I sent it to my supervisor. I was probably immobile for a full minute staring at the screen in disbelief. Then the waterworks began. It was a long time before I was able to pull myself together. I sent a second email to my supervisor apologizing for the first email and asking her to not read it until I was able to explain.
Yesterday was literally one of my worst days in a long time. I then spent the whole night rehearsing what I would say to my supervisor the next morning. I will say that it has turned out alright and that it pays to keep good records of things and to have good relationships with as many colleagues as possible.
I now have a new respect for those people and those happenstances. Sometimes the wacky can happen in real life.
Yesterday I had a situation at work that included my co-worker not doing their work correctly and deciding to blame me to my supervisor instead of taking responsibility for it. At work I was so upset that I could not speak without crying. I was furious, frustrated and more emotional than I have been in a long time. Because of these facts I did not feel comfortable talking with my supervisor in the hour left of the work day.
Instead, I began an email. I wrote the email using highly emotional language citing specific incidents of poor work by my co-worker and stating that I wished to never work with her on a project again. This was a venting exercise that was meant to help me get my thoughts in order before talking with my supervisor. It made me feel better and more able to talk with her.
However, when I went to the top to push save I actual hit the send button. That's right, I sent it to my supervisor. I was probably immobile for a full minute staring at the screen in disbelief. Then the waterworks began. It was a long time before I was able to pull myself together. I sent a second email to my supervisor apologizing for the first email and asking her to not read it until I was able to explain.
Yesterday was literally one of my worst days in a long time. I then spent the whole night rehearsing what I would say to my supervisor the next morning. I will say that it has turned out alright and that it pays to keep good records of things and to have good relationships with as many colleagues as possible.
Budding artists
I love the arts. I support the arts. I even, on occasion, consider myself an artist. However, I find it difficult to support the little budding artists in my library.
A while ago I was strolling through my teen section, making sure all my little library ducks were in a row. On the back wall of my section are fabulous, tall, brightly colored panels of abstract teens in cool poses. While walking towards that wall I noticed a dark smudge on the lower part of a panel. It was actually located right around one of the teen's giant nostril. My first thought was that someone had drawn a booger there. I was mostly wrong.
It was a penis.
Yes, a penis.
This penis was done in Sharpie. It had balls. Hairy balls. Quite large actually. But that is not all it had. The artist really paid attention to details. Apart from the detailed hairy balls there was also jizz.
That's right, this was a happy, satisfied penis. IN SHARPIE. That doesn't just wipe off. We had to repaint that whole section and ban some of the boys from the library for a while. Awesome day.
Now, if the artist had placed the penis in the nostril as some kind of statement about how penises are as useful as boogers or that jizz and snot have similar goo levels, then I would respect their art more than I do now. I also would have respected it more if they had made it three dimensional, possibly adding shading and texture to it. Really the job overall seemed a little rushed.
I will say that I would rather try to wipe Sharpie jizz off my wall more than actual jizz. There is just no telling where the jizz has been.
A while ago I was strolling through my teen section, making sure all my little library ducks were in a row. On the back wall of my section are fabulous, tall, brightly colored panels of abstract teens in cool poses. While walking towards that wall I noticed a dark smudge on the lower part of a panel. It was actually located right around one of the teen's giant nostril. My first thought was that someone had drawn a booger there. I was mostly wrong.
It was a penis.
Yes, a penis.
This penis was done in Sharpie. It had balls. Hairy balls. Quite large actually. But that is not all it had. The artist really paid attention to details. Apart from the detailed hairy balls there was also jizz.
That's right, this was a happy, satisfied penis. IN SHARPIE. That doesn't just wipe off. We had to repaint that whole section and ban some of the boys from the library for a while. Awesome day.
Now, if the artist had placed the penis in the nostril as some kind of statement about how penises are as useful as boogers or that jizz and snot have similar goo levels, then I would respect their art more than I do now. I also would have respected it more if they had made it three dimensional, possibly adding shading and texture to it. Really the job overall seemed a little rushed.
I will say that I would rather try to wipe Sharpie jizz off my wall more than actual jizz. There is just no telling where the jizz has been.
School of Censorship
I recently had an interesting yet terrifying thought. Censorship is taught everyday in school. Children, for all twelve years of their education, are taught to offend no one and censor everything they think and say. I do not think that students should make one another cry on a daily basis but I think the difference between censoring hate and censoring ideas should be taught. Even though when someone says they do not believe in God another person who does will not like that idea it does not mean that it will harm them. If a person were to say that they "hate you and think your God is a figment of your imagination," a little self-censoring probably could be used.
Instead of teaching the constructive self-censoring of keeping arguments on topic and away from personal attacks, complete censoring is taught. Kids are taught to not speak about things that are controversial and to not say anything that will offend anyone.
This does not prepare them for life. It makes the world a worse place. When polled, the majority of people say the government should demand that media represent both republican and democratic spokesmen in any political article. I am all for balanced reporting, but because we are taught to fear debate and possible unbalance the majority of Americans want their government to control the media. That is a problem.
I sat through a presentation today that listed statistic after statistic showing that the majority of people polled want the government to require the media to balance this or that and not say anything negative about a religion, race, etc. One person in the audience actually said they felt the media had "too much freedom" because they are allowed to constantly show "all that stuff about war and negative issues." They felt the media should be required to show more "positive" news BY THE GOVERNMENT!
This scares me. I am on the Intellectual Freedom Committee and we battle the issue of censorship in schools and libraries, but the session was demoralizing for me. The majority of the population wants to throw away their rights and every one's 1st Amendment right just to keep the peace without a specific issue being discussed. Those stats were as general as could be. Abortion, homosexuality, Jesus, Iraq War, etc was never mentioned. I might understand these stats more if first the poller had mentioned a divisive issue, but they didn't.
I have far more respect for a crazy fundamentalist mother who wants to shield her child from sex by banning a book for everyone than I do for the people who answered those polls. I think it all circles back to how schools try to cookie cut children to keep the peace and sacrifice real thought and initiative. It is okay to talk about divisive issues and to allow books with questionable ideas and images to remain on the shelf. It is okay to offend each other occasionally. The Westboro protestors should be allowed to protestor at funerals and I should be allowed to say that they disgust me and are close-minded crazies who should be put down. They are offended, I am offended and America remains free and happy.
Instead of teaching the constructive self-censoring of keeping arguments on topic and away from personal attacks, complete censoring is taught. Kids are taught to not speak about things that are controversial and to not say anything that will offend anyone.
This does not prepare them for life. It makes the world a worse place. When polled, the majority of people say the government should demand that media represent both republican and democratic spokesmen in any political article. I am all for balanced reporting, but because we are taught to fear debate and possible unbalance the majority of Americans want their government to control the media. That is a problem.
I sat through a presentation today that listed statistic after statistic showing that the majority of people polled want the government to require the media to balance this or that and not say anything negative about a religion, race, etc. One person in the audience actually said they felt the media had "too much freedom" because they are allowed to constantly show "all that stuff about war and negative issues." They felt the media should be required to show more "positive" news BY THE GOVERNMENT!
This scares me. I am on the Intellectual Freedom Committee and we battle the issue of censorship in schools and libraries, but the session was demoralizing for me. The majority of the population wants to throw away their rights and every one's 1st Amendment right just to keep the peace without a specific issue being discussed. Those stats were as general as could be. Abortion, homosexuality, Jesus, Iraq War, etc was never mentioned. I might understand these stats more if first the poller had mentioned a divisive issue, but they didn't.
I have far more respect for a crazy fundamentalist mother who wants to shield her child from sex by banning a book for everyone than I do for the people who answered those polls. I think it all circles back to how schools try to cookie cut children to keep the peace and sacrifice real thought and initiative. It is okay to talk about divisive issues and to allow books with questionable ideas and images to remain on the shelf. It is okay to offend each other occasionally. The Westboro protestors should be allowed to protestor at funerals and I should be allowed to say that they disgust me and are close-minded crazies who should be put down. They are offended, I am offended and America remains free and happy.
Rant
I do NOT understand people who think we are going to just give you our books without a card or SOMETHING! How is it possible? If I hear, “Oh, I have to have a card to get these?” I will scream! Come on people, even places that make you pay like Blockbuster makes you have an account.
Also, to send an email, you need an email account. Even if an Outlook like thing pops up and lets you fill in information, it does not count because you don’t have an account.
I am not talking about children either. Adults. Grown-ass people are the ones who seem to have the most problems in libraries.
I just need to take deep breathes and expect less from humanity.
Also, to send an email, you need an email account. Even if an Outlook like thing pops up and lets you fill in information, it does not count because you don’t have an account.
I am not talking about children either. Adults. Grown-ass people are the ones who seem to have the most problems in libraries.
I just need to take deep breathes and expect less from humanity.
We're all hypocrites
I am a feminist (which according to Pat Robertson means that I and all my gay friends are responsible for 9-11, sorry). I am friends with many feminist of both genders. And yet, even amongst my friends and family members I continue to pick up on hypocritical comments and sentiments.
I have seen men ask their wives for a refill as they sit on the couch with company and she cleans the kitchen or cares for the children. No one in the room takes note or seems to find anything odd about the situation. I have also witnessed women ask their husbands or boyfriends for a refill while they are getting themselves one. The comments that often following include words and phrases like whipped and you know who wears the pants in that relationship. Everyone chuckles and no one seems alarmed.
And yet, I find myself alarmed. This happens often. If I tell Mr. Neruda to do something or that I would like to do something I am often seen as a nag or a difficult woman to live with. When he tells me to do something or that he would like to do something he is seen as a good leader, strong man, or the proper head of his household.
I know families that sing the equality tune. However. come meal-times for a large number of people, the mom cooks for everyone and then does all the dishes herself afterwards. Neither her or her husband thinks anything about it. Neither do most of their guests.
All of these overlooked inequalities bother me, a lot. But then I find myself caught up in them. For the first 4 1/2 years of our marriage, Mr. Neruda and I always drove the same way. Mr. Neruda in the driver's seat and myself in the passenger seat. However, Mr. Neruda hates driving and I hate how he drives. We would argue a good portion of each journey. It was irritating. Then, thankfully, one day it occurred to me that he hates to drive and I hate how he drives, so why does he? I don't mind driving and he doesn't really have a problem with how I drive. For a few months now I have been the designated driver and our trips have been quite pleasant.
I am under the impression that our driving situation was arranged because of a preconceived idea that boys drive and girls ride. This makes me sad, but how Mr. Neruda and I continue to consciously buck the system makes me glad. I am happy to be the primary bread winner in our house currently. I am happy that my husband is a man-ny for our niece.
Preconceived societal gender roles, I bite my thumb at you.
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