Pity and Fear

In further evidence that I am, in fact, a genius, I have discovered a way to keep my pants from sliding down and exposing my bum: wear a belt. Wear a belt! A BELT. Why yes, I AM available for rocket science and brain surgery consults, thank you for asking. Also, I am embarrassed to admit that I have taken to wearing those preppy ribbon belts with things like fine gauge cardigans and cute flats and it’s all because I got my hair done and it looks adorable, if I do say so myself, and I am not responsible for my brief foray into Melissa C. Morris territory, folks.

(Disclaimer: I love Melissa C. Morris. LOVE. But the preppy look is not one I’ve ever pulled off all that well. But hey, maybe a new dawn is upon us! This summer: Lilly Pulitzer!) (OMG I KID ABOUT THE LILLY BIT)

At the risk of sounding like a completely ignorant slut, occasionally I … grow tired … of all the raging battles against feminism, motherhood and life on Twitter and the blogosphere. I am TIRED of hearing about Nestle, as much as I think the issues are valid. I am TIRED of being mad at Whoopi Goldberg and Hollywood and Roman Polanski, and I just want to sit back and have a nice glass of (non-Nesquik) chocolate milk and talk about something FRIVOLOUS. Or at least not listen to everyone wax feminista about all of it, because apparently, I am finished with my deep thinking for the week. Am I alone here? I think I only have so much rage about each particular issue, and when that’s exhausted by reading about OTHER people’s rage, I feel particularly exhausted. I’m sure this means something deep and thoughtful — or rather, it means I am bending over and letting the patriarchy ram me in the ass — but I’m not sure I actually care to … care at the moment. More likely, however, it means that I am a shallow, thoughtless person who would be better off watching “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?”

And with that, I will contradict myself MIGHTILY and mention the swine flu vaccine issue, which Sundry hosted a really awesome discussion about earlier this week. Truly, I was riveted by all of the comments, and in full disclosure, I should tell you that I am, in almost every circumstance, pro-vaccine, including the swine flu vax. I’m comfortable in my decision, and have done a boatload of research to get there, although I recognize and respect that many others have come to a completely different decision with a completely different body of research. And I totally get that, and, given where I live, am friends with MANY non-vaccinators.

But what I CANNOT GET are the people who think that there is some sort of VAST GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY to give everyone the swine flu so that … I don’t know, there could be a vaccine made and make someone lots of money and … well, I can’t even explain it properly, because I’m just LOST, yo. For God’s sake, our government can’t even get a coherent health care bill together, do you HONESTLY think they’re in there indoctrinating the CDC staffers to do something on such a grand scale? It all just makes me wonder if people realize that this is, indeed, real life, and not a movie.

So! The Sookie Stackhouse books. LOVE THEM. They’re ridiculous and not that well written, but they’re as addictive as those giant jelly Nerds with the candy coating and twice as delicious. Except DUDE, the fashion. Y’all warned me, but I WAS NOT PREPARED. You guys, in book three, she wears a strapless dress with … long sleeves that she puts on separately that may or may not attach at the middle finger like something Ann Wilson would have worn in Heart’s heyday, and I had to check the publishing date on the novels to make sure they weren’t done in the ’80s, because, seriously, Charlaine? I know this takes place in rural Louisiana, but … separate sleeves? And banana clips? And the Hairagami? And this woman is supposedly some kind of IRRISISTABLE SEX SYMBOL. GAWD.

And finally, I learned YET AGAIN that I am brutally addicted to caffeine when, on Sunday, I woke up to realize we only had decaf in the house. And despite having drunk ELEVEN CUPS, thinking that the caffeine content SURELY was high enough to be absorbed at that point, because don’t they say that decaf is never REALLY decaffeinated?, I ended up with the world’s largest headache. It was a headache that could not be contained by Advil or Excedrin or Tylenol. It was the Mother of All Headaches, and I just kept thinking that if any other substance caused such extreme withdrawal symptoms, I would bust my ass to wean myself from it. But because it was coffee and therefore, AIR, what I did was run out and buy more, then come home and brew myself the biggest pot under the sun. And then I drank it all like the twitchy little addict I am.

Happy weekend!

**Death Cab for Cutie. Decent band, terrible name.

38 comments October 1st, 2009