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Jess’ Feminism Sept. 2018

“it’s easy to write when I’m angry. like really easy, I can go on and on and on! ...but then I have to rip the page out and throw it in the garbage” - my female professor, in my first lecture of Humanities in a Global Age

I enjoy having my nails professionally done and getting my body waxed. Getting a Brazilian wax makes me feel like I just treated myself, even though this is a cost that most men will never pay and a pain they will probably never think about. The feeling of getting hot wax slathered on your most sensitive and complicated area, waiting for it to dray on your skin and then having it ripped off by stranger, is kind of uncomfortable. The whole procedure takes about 5 minutes and costs $50. It is worth the pain and money in my eyes to soft and smooth pussy. Maybe its the bond I can make with the wax technician who is telling me what her least favourite part of getting a Brazilian is and also telling me about a recent documentary she watched on female child sex robots. I’m thinking that if I every get married I might want to change my last name. 

This weekend I went to my boyfriend’s sisters wedding and I wore a baby blue dress with a pink water colour floral pattern on it, un-manicured legs and nails. A freshly tattooed dagger above my left foot reaching half way up my chin, and a pair of strapy four inch, chunky heels in a peachy-pinky colour. I wore a three hoops in my nose piercing, one of which was much larger than the other two because I bought the wrong size but it didn’t bother me too much. When I found out we arrived at the hotel room with only an hour and thirty minutes before we had to leave for the ceremony, panic overwhelming took over and fear and shock rush through my veins, from my facial expression to my body language I was shook. My boyfriend’s brother and father were in the room, and I was embarrassed when they got a peak into how long it took me to get ready. I hopped into the shower and started my process. (And made it to the wedding on time)

I didn’t think much about feminism on this day but today I am. I am not discriminated against for being myself in my life. There are codes of conduct that I know are placed around me for being a women, but I can decide to follow or to disregard them, and that is privilege. It is wrong for me to choose? Do I have to disregard eveything that is expected of me for being a women to be a fair woman? Am I wrong for exercising the privilege of choice in my life? Do I need to fight feircily against everything society deems feminine?

For myself, in my own life and circumstances, I believe the right thing to do is excerise this freedom, this privilege. If I refuse to take time for my make up and hair before an important event, I know I won’t feel as comfortable as I could if I spent time on myself. I like to feel comfortable, and I feel comfort when I am confident. 

So while my boyfriend took thirty minutes to get ready, with a shaved head and moisturized face, I took triple that time to feel the same amount of confidence and ready-ness. To my understanding of the world, the time I took on my appearance was no waste of time; while my boyfriend had time to kill before he had to start to get ready. Maybe one day I will be ready to attend a wedding with a shaved head and moisturized face, but that is not something I am trying to achieve or will make me a better women.

This is just the stage of my feminist journey that I am navigating through. It is self absorbed, but critically thought about.

I didn’t even think about whether she kept her last name or took his, and I will probably never need to know anyways.

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Starting yesterday, Illinois has become the second state in the country to ban the “gay panic defense,” in which murderers can justify violence by citing their shock at learning a victim was LGBTQ.

The tactic is often used by those who hurt their gay or transgender partners or love interests, or by those who lash out violently against a person who expresses interest in them. According to the AP, “There are variations, but it generally goes like this: A person doesn’t realize someone is gay or transgender and engages in a flirtation, then discovers that person’s sexual orientation [or gender identity] and that discovery triggers a passionate involuntary response such as murder.”

Activists for LGBTQ rights often point to the 1998 case of Matthew Shepard, a 21-year-old college student who was beaten to death by two men, one of whom claimed the victim had made sexual advances toward him.

The activists say they hope the law, which was approved by Illinois lawmakers in May and signed by Gov. Bruce Rauner in August, will provide momentum toward passing similar measures in other states.

“This new law ensures LGBTQ people are not blamed for the violence perpetrated against them simply because of who they are,” Brian C. Johnson, CEO of Equality Illinois, said in a statement shortly after Rauner signed the law.

California is the only other state where this is illegal, and the American Bar Association called for it to be banned several years ago. Here’s hoping Illinois sparks a movement of similar laws around the country. 

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#833 — digital life as historical artifact

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Big Slice

After our glorious meal at Big Slice I ordered a coffee because if it’s not nicotine I’m craving it’s caffeine. We started playing this game of gotcha where you hold out both your hand’s palms facing each others and I was the bottom set, sitting in the power seat I giggled watching how anxious he was - jittery hands and wide eyes. I was given the sweet taste of my childhood; playing this game with my dad except roles were reversed and we were usually at more extravagant eater.

I gottem I gottem I gottem Until he flinched rightfully, forcing me to forfeit the power over to him

Now I’m on a sugar rush with the sweetness of my memories. Giggling manifested its way into full blown hysteria that spread across the table and now it’s only us on this whole establishment. I’m squirming and screeching barely able to see his face through my squinted, tearing eyes but I heard the laughter and knew he was just as much a fool as I. Completely disregarding the coffee in between my elbows. Next think I hear is the sound of his palms slapping the top of my hands and the side of my coffee cup slapping the table top.

Suddenly I am hyper aware of how loud we were being due to the way the absence of our laughter made the room feel empty and hallow like hearing your own echo. I looked up at his face and felt like I was looking into a mirror, out eyes wide and jaws dropped. I looked across from our table to the more matured couple and met there eyes separately giving me the same annoyed yet boastful expressions - almost like saying “I knew that was going to happen”. I didn’t dare turn around to meet any other faces, but I knew there were staring.

We left a HUGE tip

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Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Manon Ballerina (via wordsnquotes)

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Cost Of Education

           Sitting in a room that seems to have 50 times the square footage of my entire house, on the 5th row from the top, I can see everyone below me but the last person I pay any attention to is the professor at the bottom. The girl seven rows before me looks like she woke up before the sun, with blonde streaked beach waves falling from her braid, wrapped around her head like a crown. The irony of the girl to her right who looks like she woke up with ten minutes before this class started, wearing a beanie finding her palm to be a perfectly good pillow in the middle of this lecture about the laws against prostitution. I could never be a prostitute I think too much bang for your buck I chuckle out loud at my joke, if I don’t who will? Now I’m distracted by the scent of bad body odor, for a second I’m self-conscience about my own odor and I can’t remember whether I put on deodorant or not but then I notice a guy beside me opened his gym bag to pull out his phone charger (I judge him ever so slightly for having a Samsung, he’s probably super techy). Almost everyone has their laptop out, none of which are actually taking notes, I can see three people playing box head, five people on tumblr and a whopping 14 people just making those blue squares appear on their desktop page. The only reason my lap top is open, is because I’d rather have my hands resting on a key board than the table in front of me. My attention falls back on my professor as he’s pacing back and forth without talking, did he notice no one was listening? Did he ever really think we were listening? Then the short round man pushes up his glasses with a huff and looks at the ground shaking his head as if trying to remember something. My laptop makes the noise notifying me that I got an iMessage. It’s my manager from Starbucks, asking if I can come in early this afternoon at three; it’s already two thirty but if I leave now I can make it. I decide this lecture isn’t more important than an extra two hours on the clock so I pack up and leave.

            On a bus that smells like sweat and urine, but I’d rather that than the other thing you do in the washroom. Now picking at my nails making a mental note to get them done after work, whenever I get fake nails no one can even tell because I ask for then to be as short as my real nails, I can’t do my everyday duties with unrealistically long nails. I look out the windows and can see the smog blurring out the hills of northern California, maybe the pollution here is getting out of hand. I watch as a girl who looks like she couldn’t have seen more than thirteen summers light a cigarette and hope her mom doesn’t find out. Finally at my stop, I swing my green and brown backpack around and over one shoulder, trapping most of my hair under my strap; I’m used to it. As I’m standing at the back doors of the bus before they open I look down at my converse and realize my shoe lace is untied. Stepping off the bus I bend down to tie my shoe and my blue jean’s button pops open and my belly button feels free for the first time all day. Quickly fixing the wardrobe malfunction I look up and find my co-worker with his face pressed up against the glass window on the door giving me a creepy yet welcoming smiling. I hit him with an equally as creepy double eyebrow wiggle. I love how silly I can act at this job, and no one will think I’m actually silly, they’ll just think I’m cute and corky.

             “That’s cute” Jeff says while holding the door open for me to walk through, “I know” I say back without making eye contact. Jeff is a good looking man who always has the right amount of stubble, hair colour that matches the coffee we make, not quite an afro but pretty curly. His eyebrows thick and unkempt above his hazel coloured eyes, his smile is super cute but he’s such a goof ball that I could only think of him as a little brother. I throw my black t-shirt over my tank top and wrap the apron around my waist. Sara is working today, and she always has positive vibes and makes me appreciate life a little more every time I see her. With her blonde hair below her ears, she greets me with a warm smile that causes her blue eyes to squint a little. She has a tattoo of the solar system, with the sun on her left elbow and all the planets placed on rings circling the center. I couldn’t be happier working with these two.

           I’m on a break with Sara and we’re sitting on the wooden deck, she’s sipping a green tea with her legs crosses and I’m having a black coffee. We’re sharing a laugh while reminiscing all the times we purposely pronounce people’s name wrong when I get a text from a woman who works at my other job. She says she won’t be able to make her shift tonight and wants me to take it for her, I debate for a couple second but agree that I can never make too much money in one day so I take her up on her offer. I need to be on stage by ten so I need to make sure Jeff can drive me home fast. All my clothes, or lack thereof, is already in a canvas bag because I’m always on call for my night job.

           I get home at 9:45, if I take my bike I can make it in time. “Hey Ella, where yea going, sweetie?” my mother asks, “I promised some friends that I would meet up with them for some drinks.” I respond walking right by her in our crowded kitchen. My mom takes a break from washing the dishes in the huge sink as I back track a couple steps to pick up a couple tangerines. “Why are you in such a rush?” inquiring while wiping her hands, “they are already at the bar, mom, I don’t wanna miss anything.” and I close the door behind me as I enter the garage from our kitchen. I take my fixed-gear bike off the metal hooks on the concrete walls, and I’m off at least 55 miles an hour. I like going fast, it’s dangerous but it blurs everything around me out and does the opposite for my mental space, gives me room to think. I’m thinking about how far I’ve come turn left with my mom, she hasn’t given me shit for a while about going out, that’s just the beauty in growing up turn right I guess. Ok I should be thinking about something more productive. So no school tomorrow speed bump perfect time to get my nails done turn left I’ll ask Alex to come with me, she probably needs a manicure as well. Now I’m turning into a laneway where I enter through a backdoor. The same security guard gives me the same cut eye for bringing my bike in but I don’t trust people on this side of the city.

           My bike is resting against the wall and now my regular clothes resting at the bottom of this grey locker. I slip on my pink string-like bottoms, this colour looks a lot better on me when I had a tan. I should plan a day to go to the beach soon, maybe with my mom – I feel like I never hang out with her anymore. As I pull my top over my head that cuts off right under my nipple, Amanda walks into the room. She’s one of my favourite girls who work here, today just keeps getting better and better! “Hey girl!” she says with her southern accent. “Hey Mandy, I didn’t know you were working tonight.” She doesn’t like being called Mandy (says it just doesn’t sound right) but I call her that partly to mess with her; mostly because it adds some innocence to what it sounds like we do here. Without acknowledging the nickname she says, “I didn’t know you were either” then she dropped her leather bag with tassels from her broad shoulder, she was the only girl I knew who could pair that bag with a pair of low cut pale pink cowboy boots and a short jean jacket and still look cool and casual. “Yea, I don’t usually work on Tuesdays, I’m covering Amy’s shift. God knows why she couldn’t make it.” Before responding Amanda already had her floral sun dress on its way over her head. “I know why couldn’t make it too.” She replied while bringing one finger up to her nose, closing nostril with it and sniffing the air, I could only laugh in agreement.

NOW PRESENTING …. CANDI DARLING

           I strut out onto the stage, using my best bedrooms eyes and scan over every man in the audience until one man stops me dead in my tracks. My round, bald headed, four eyed Professor.

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Bottle Service

I'm sure you heard the phrase bottling up your emotions,

it seems like a pretty easy concept to understand. Have you ever thought into it a little deeper into the subject though?

Of bottles I mean.

Something else you keep bottled is wine and that gets better with age, you keep that sealed for decades and the longer you have it in storage, the better it gets. The way your understanding of the world gets better with age. You should defiantly keep that type of stuff stored in a safe place, but pour your friends a glass everyone once in a while, and enjoy their favourites too.

Other things aren't so good bottled up. Beer gets stale and becomes hard to want to drink. The bottle will stay in your fridge getting colder and colder until you come to the conclusion, you aren't going to crack one open anytime soon – then they become a nuisance. You have make the decision whether to say fuck it I'm drinking it all tonight or put them in a box in the garage until you’re ready to drink it. But before you know it, parties have passed and your opportunities are endless but you still don't open 'em up because they aren't cold anymore, at least never when you need then. After sitting in the garage for a while they become stale and unwanted, a reminder every time you leave your house of what you had. But every party that comes around you buy a new case because they are cool and fresh and go down smooth and tasteful. Once you have ran out of money, the parties don't stop. The only beer you have is the warm, stale, unwanted case in your garage. You drink them slow, as the brew falls down your throat you hate the way it tastes and you think to yourself who cares about wasted beer, I should have just split then down the sink. But you can't let yourself waste perfectly good beer, after all, they were cold at one point. And you felt what was bottled up for so long that your emotions began to become less important/relevant but you need to let them out into the world, no matter how stale they get.

Liquor also comes in bottles. That's the stuff you buy last minute, completely by impulse. Opening the cap almost as soon as the party doors open. You didn't buy it for taste and you know the after math could be horrible. One shot leads to another and before you know it, your half way through the bottle and there's no point in stopping now. Putting the bottle to your lips, taking the last shot, the rest is up to the people you choose to share to bottle with. If with the right people, you will wake up the next morning intact. But the wrong people will leave you after drinking your bottle for someone else's bottle, whose tastes better. Like when you shared what you felt in the moment, but chose the wrong people to share those thoughts with.

Alcohol comes in different bottles though, and sometimes you have to open it up and take a sip.

If it is wine, close it back up and put it in storage – you’ll need that for another day.

If it's beer, you better drink it while it's cold.

And if it's liquor ... Good luck.

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Temporary; I have never heard such a word that made me feel both terrified and relieved.

Mandeq Ahmed (via wordsnquotes)

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next chapter

He was at a point in his life when the decisions he makes will influence the man he will inevitably become.

That’s when I came in, I was never one for good timing anyways

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White noise

In the beginning you are hyper aware of the white noise, then your senses go somewhere else. 

 Something else to see 

 Something else to think 

 Something else to smell 

 To taste 

 To feel 

 To be 

But human nature is to adapt to your surroundings; to get comfortable. Once you are comfortable, you hear the white noise, accept it, wait for a different noise Soon enough the different noise fades to white too. The noises keep getting more pigmented and it takes more shades of white to remove the hue. 

You are an adapter. Turning USB ports to be compatible with outlets. Have you ever noticed how outlets look like faces? like surprised faces? like discomfort? But at the end of it all you, the adapter, fit perfectly in discomfort. 

 This is also white noise.

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I want you to know that it is not always easy to love me. That sometimes my chest is a field full of landmines, and where you went last night, you can’t go tomorrow. There is no manual, there is no road map, no help line you can call; my body does not come with instructions, and sometimes even I don’t know what to do with it. This cannot be easy. But still, you touch me anyway.

Ivan E. Coyote (via wordsnquotes)

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sometimes you read the book, and sometimes the book reads you. [x]

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A lesson I wear my sleeve but I've yet to let sink into my pours and circulate within my own.

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Everyone’s pain is different… I don’t like when people compare. I don’t like when people marginalize their feelings because they think they’re not allowed to have them. Someone will always have a tougher go than you. Does that mean you’re not allowed to feel hurt? To be sad?

S. Walden, LoveLines  (via wordsnquotes)

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