“Feminism has gone too far,” he types from his gaming PC, sipping pilsner as he works from home in his pajamas for the 70k job his buddy networked him into straight out of community college. “The woman-card works for everything now,” he comments on a post he didn’t read but which pictures newly elected congresswomen with impeccable degrees and resumes who bring female reps in Congress from 20% up to a record-breaking 23% this year. “Feminism is a cancer,” he mumbles into his headset. The doorbell rings. His buddy came over to play fortnite. Time for an early lunch.



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2018 Update

Goal Calendar

✔️ 2016: Finished my M.S. and graduated; fixed my teeth

✔️ 2017: Moved out; fixed my personal life;  started going to more concerts

2018: Fix debt structure; lose 30 lbs

Fuck, I’ve been busy being awesome. This year’s improvements were particularly challenging due to the longevity of their dark cloud. Debt AND fat? Can she tackle both, ladies and gentlemen? Well, guess what. I did the fat part????

Here’s something I drafted when I was in the midst of keto in the spring to commemorate the struggle:

Every day I have the same meticulously crafted fantasy. It all takes place in my kitchen. First, I pull high end pre-cut french fries out of the freezer and lay them out on a cookie sheet. I season them with oil, salt, pepper, rosemary, and garlic. I put them in the oven while I move on to prepping the toppings. I fry the bacon until juicy (with just a hint of crispy edge) and then finely chop it. I clean the cutting board and then chop fresh green onions. Ding, the fries are done. I pull the sheet out of the oven and slowly dip my head over the fries to smell them. Into a large, oven-safe serving bowl they go. Now, I grate a block of extra sharp Vermont cheddar over the bowl. Keep grating. Keep grating. Not. Yet. I bite my lip. After the entire block is grated and my wrists ache, I sprinkle the bacon bits and green onion. The bowl goes in the oven for 5 minutes. I take it out and dollop sour cream and chives over the display and reach into the fridge for the finishing touch: the honey mustard. I gorge. And gorge. And gorge. I look up and smile. I fall asleep satisfied. You know, when I was a kid we called this anorexia. Glad to see that in adulthood we can rebrand with a more friendly, scientific name and swap ketosis tips over a juice brunch.

Gubernatorial Outlooks

Ugh, gag me. The reason why Trump will win re-election isn’t because progressives lobby society too fervently for equality or disagree internally about the degree to which microaggressions are in fact aggressive. It will be because a majority of independent voters think that title makes them sexy; that it makes them look intellectual and professorial to wax poetically about centrism and falsely equivocate human rights that are on the line at the Supreme Court with being held accountable for asshole statements on Twitter. Well, I’m sorry to say that it’s not brave or elite or intellectual to cowardly back into the bushes while singing your chorus, “both sides are equally bad”. We will not rejoin the global stage until the majority of Americans cede their identity of disinterested narcissists or, worse, conscientious objectors to taking stands.

Living Alone At Last

Wow, going back through blog drafts is rough. I have so many drafts that I never published. This one from March 2017 is especially gruesome to review, and it gets nostalgic in a way that doesn’t feel awesome on the cusp of 2019. But, I feel like I should finally publish it. I don’t even live there anymore because it was ultimately too expensive to be on my own, but I do look back on that apartment with fondness. It was exactly what I needed at a bad time, and back then I didn’t realize that one of my best friends had already started sleeping with him in secret, and that the other one was about to start. That era was awful but it was also downright innocent by comparison. It’s worth at least one post outside of draft purgatory.


Living alone is a critical boomerang to my previous living situation. While living with friends is a wonderful, fun, and meaningful experience, it also has many risks. When you let quirks and certain selfish personality traits of your friends overwhelm you on a day to day basis, it can hurt your relationships with them. I feel for even that one reason, leaving after three otherwise wonderful years at the house was the right call. There is such a thing as overstaying, and I think I was just on the cusp of doing so, but escaped before the little things stacked up and threatened to hurt my interpersonal relationships. An additional concern was my own growing antisocial nature. There is a certain expectation of friendliness when you live with your friends; one that my up-and-down financial crisis, frequent late night work hours, constant weekend trips away, and avoidance of the literal ex-in-the-basement make impossible to live up to. It is simpler to live alone when you anticipate being consistently away.

Finally, after living with family or friends for my entire life–and particularly in the same room with a partner for many years–my personal zen requires the space, peace, and quiet only a private apartment can provide. Endless granite counters, perfect living room, balcony over the community garden and lagoon-style pool deck, personal herb garden on the porch, harmonious bedroom and decor/accents…. and all for me. Privacy.

  • Painting in the living room without taking up group space
  • baking pies at 3am
  • laundry at all hours
  • loud, overnight guests on a whim
  • candle-lit baths without thought for hogging the restroom

The possibilities are endless and carefree. I can’t wait to cook more with my own kitchen. No more fridge and cabinet Tetris, no more washing other people’s dishes and counter messes, and no more juggling stove usage across four people every night. Most of all, I’m looking forward to losing “the cloud” in my daily surroundings. Even though we retained all our friends, even though we parted as amicably as possible (all things considered), and even though I’ve moved on emotionally (as much as can be expected), the breakup still tainted the home. While I was out of town visiting someone on weekends, my ex would often go on the same kind of outtings with our friends I used to enjoy. I’d see the pictures trickle in on saturday and sunday afternoons and give a soft sigh, wondering why he or no one else thought to ask me. Every weeknight was interrupted with the logistical struggles of sharing an in-room bathroom with him and the forced conversation that ensued. Our breakup loomed over everything about the house like a fog. Even the house’s farewell party was tainted: we were the unspoken reason for the diaspora. I didn’t even want to attend. I fought about it at length with him the day before. It was all so forced. Everything there reminded me of our failure: my bedroom that’s too-big-for-one, my closet still filled with his clothes, his furniture and equipment in the corner, the pristine second sink that never gets used, the front door of the house that took me past the basement every day….

I was ready to be free of it.

Conservative Dogma

“I’m against government interference in terms of education, healthcare, and anti-discrimination terms, but we need an absurdly large military and should blindly support the police, but I also need military style weapons to fight the police in case they take my freedom.”

In a nutshell.

Today In The News

Parents who pay men to teach their young girls to be sex objects are shocked when those men treat the young girls like sex objects. *shrug*


Read, Rinse, Repeat Whenever You Start Getting Nostalgic

Imagine spending your whole life with someone who, in the back of their mind, doesn’t think about moving forward with you. Imagine spending your whole life with someone who wanted to leave you–who feels like they should have left you. Remember: even at your best you’ll never be right for the wrong person. – Jay Shetty

Every now and then I need to hear this so that I stop feeling sorry for myself. I’m single on purpose, but still, every now and then I feel that little pity twang in the back of my mind, and I need to remind myself that he found a thousand ways over the years to describe why I wasn’t right for him which, with his next girlfriend, didn’t seem to be issues anymore. Remember: if someone doesn’t want to be with you, they will find reasons. They might not be the true reasons, and they don’t need to be; their voicing is sign enough to stop giving and leave.


Where for some reason everyone’s cool with paying for the fire department so strangers don’t die in fires, but the stranger dying of cancer is their own fault and they should start a gofundme.

Google Integration is a Horror Show

I’ve said it many times before, and today I say it again. The Google integration across devices, accounts, and other unrelated websites Is. Too. Much. I don’t want every federal prison employee to become contacts in my phone just because I want to check my work email.

I don’t want the 100k+ strangers I’ve ever mail-merged in Outlook to auto-fill as recipient suggestions for the meme I’m trying to share through other apps.

And I definitely don’t want my ex’s gmail account to keep traveling with me from phone to phone, automatically re-syncing and frankenstein’ing back to life in my Calendar to show me his notes for whenever his gf is out of town.

Attention Bajoran Workers!

I’ve taken up the mantle of Deep Space Nine. I tolerated occasional re-runs in my youth but never had the means to regularly watch and invest deep. Now, with the powers of Netflix, I’ve watched it from start to finish (sleep was optional). Having devoted a month to this deed, I’m now a committed fan until the end of my days!

On to the shipping! For archival purposes and for posterity’s pleasure, here are my three favorite pairings in no particular order:

  • Garak and Bashir
  • Gul Dukat and Weyoun
  • Jadzia and Worf

And let me tell you I am certainly not the only one. The fanart for the first two in particular is buckets of fun. I’m aware they’re canonical stretches; however, if you do not allow your Cardassian supervisors these harmless whimsies, we will be forced to take action.

Thank you and good night.

Dating Requirement #1

No emotional disorders.

“But people with blahblahblah need love too–”

✋ I’ve done my time. I don’t need to devote my entire fucking life to charity.

Fuck Debt

Millennial student and credit card (also related to being a student) debts are difficult to tackle as a single-person household. The great thing about marrying young is the ability to be each other’s safety net and pool resources. So, still being single at 31 means I’ve been racing from behind on the hurdles others have been able to face together. I’ve missed out on the safety net and the help. And, any relationships were siphons. So, the debt has been compounding even as I’ve made consistent payments over the years. (It’s not all woe-is-me… I also lived beyond my means, and I own that).

It’s been so difficult getting anywhere resembling progress when next month’s interest fee is as much as this month’s maximum payment working two jobs and 80 to 100 hours a week. I’m even allowing the National Institute of Health to inject me with malaria for clinical trial money. Sorry, Boomers, but despite your sincerest and malicious hopes, I’m not floundering for lack of effort, focus, or ingenuity.

All in all, my credit might be in the toilet, but at least I’ve never missed a loan payment. Eventually in life it has to count for something that I’m the type of person who regularly works 48 hours straight over her weekend at a second or third job rather than be delinquent on a loan payment. (Right? RIGHT????)

Facebook is a Cesspool


saw this today; eyes rolled back so hard I almost fell

At least we know that none of the figures in this painting authored the document in the first place 😂

How can these people be so proud to have strong convictions about a few lines of text they know so little about? Can they name even three other amendments? Just three! How about identifying the most important ones, like the one that abolished slavery and the one that granted women the right to vote? $100 says they can’t.

Every “gun rights” pontiff on the Constitution, in summary: “Militia? Naw, the 2nd amendment definitely says we all have the right to bear arms and junkz. I haven’t read it since middle school, but I am 110% sure that’z whut it sayz. And there’s, like, some other amendments too, but I dunno what they are. The 2nd is the MOST important to me, a white person under no threats whatsoever.”

Week 1 on Bumble

It had been over a year, so Cyan convinced me to download an app and try again. Ehhhh. Okay. What harm can it do?

So, let’s say I’m a man on a dating site. From a week on bumble, I deduce I am either a medical sales rep or a financial adviser, but either way I definitely have a pic of myself at machu picchu.  (Seriously, every fourth swipe has one. Where do they get the money? I have to drive Lyft every night if I want to buy groceries that week.)


Here are the other pics on my hypothetical dude pages.

hip mike/john, works in tech:

  • posing next to my dog (why does every man in their thirties have a dog? I can smell the wet dog wafting from your photostream because I KNOW you don’t bathe him/her every week. Never met a man who could even keep up with his own trash and dishes, much less bathe his pet on a schedule.)
  • holding a child that makes you think boy he has that hot dad look and then “NIECE/NEPHEW” in the comments that promises you won’t be a homewrecker

financier chad, venture capitalist or broker

  • on another mountain that’s NOT machu picchu (okay but I like the mountain ones :D)
  • at dinner with my ex cropped out (I like these too because the food always looks good. Moar food pics!)
  • next to my more attractive friend (who’s your friend? Is he on here?)

trashy jake, loves freedom and women with tats

  • with my favorite sports team jersey
  • in my bathroom mirror
  • holding a dead fish next to my head
  • posing with my guns


Stepping back from the satire for a moment, real talk: I am getting suspicious of the men of Bumble. Many of them are incredibly hot–like, stop swiping and just make noises with your teeth levels of hot. So, I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with them that they’re on here swiping for strangers. Chauvinists? Narcissists? Chronic bad breath? A persistent lisp? Racist? Generally intolerable IRL? Why can’t they find love without algorithms? I’m swiping their tight asses and topknots, to be sure. But….. the grains of salt I’m collecting along the way could season a Thanksgiving dinner. Update: I figured out why they are undatable: crippling self-esteem problems. It’s dick pic city out here. Y’all, this is not how you talk to women 😂 (Also, to the giant viking dudes, we know what it’s going to look like. On top of rude it’s just completely unnecessary.)

P.S. – Leave comments with egregious stereotypes of women’s profiles; I would love to read them! This is an equal-opportunity shaming thread 😂 

Spotify is dangerous, kids.

Oh man. Storytime. I innocently fell in love with a silky smooth singing progressive rock band (Wytch Hazel, if you’re curious). I’ve been jamming to them smiting demons, conquering in battle, and crowning their mighty king for two days. It finally hit me: Waaait. This is one mighty king in particular.

So, this is totally a Christian rock band 😒. They reel you in with that baritone crooning and the guitar licks of Satan, and before you know it you’re knocking on your neighbor’s door asking them about their relationship with skylords.

Oh well, I guess I love Christ now. Can I call him Christ? Or is it The Christ? Whaddup, The Christ?

God damn it. My band of the week is a Christian Rock Band singin’ about psalms. This is new territory.


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