Happy Needless Turkey Murder Day!

Despite my distaste for meat, holidays, and general traditionalism, I really do like Thanksgiving.  I think we can make the celebration about sharing a meal with family or friends (or I guess, giving Thanks) instead of a celebration of White Europeans pillaging the lands of Natives after sharing a meal with them in hopes of making them believe that they came in peace.

This is my second Thanksgiving away from my family, although the first that I've actually cooked and planned to share a meal with people other than my relatives.  Three years ago, I celebrated Thanksgiving in the Atlanta airport in a variety of bars (great selection of bars in that airport!), on my way to Vegas to celebrate my 21st birthday.  It was a looong plane ride from ATL to Vegas, as I believe my hangover started midflight.

This year I am sharing a meal with some friends in Columbus, and while I'm a little sad that I'm not seeing my family, I'm excited to celebrate a holiday in a somewhat nontraditional way - something my family doesn't allow too much room for.  Sure, we're still stuffing our faces today and likely being thankful for the people around us, but to my knowledge there won't be a turkey.

And, I never want to sound like a holier-than-thou non meat eater, on some level it seems a little ridiculous that sharing a meal with our family and friends requires the slaughtering of nearly every Turkey on the planet.  Anyone consider having pizza for thanksgiving?  Or even a burger - I'm not a huge advocate of meat but maybe we could spread the animal slaughtering and eat a few cows instead of wiping out the Turkey population for a single meal.

In middle school, my friend Andrea tried to institute, with little success, a day in May that was meant to counter the excessive November slaughtering of Turkeys.  I think it was called something straightforward like Don't Eat Turkey day, but I know for sure it was May 9th.   I was already a vegetarian at the time, and an avid supporter of Don't Eat Turkey day (to my recollection, Andrea was dealing with some meat-eaters guilt; she still consumed Turkey on Thanksgiving and wanted to make up for it by choosing a day where she refused to eat Turkey).  I'm sure neither of us understood at the time that Turkeys were bred specifically for consumption on Thanksgiving day, so avoiding eating them another day of the year didn't really save any Turkeys. 

This morning my mom emailed me a fake turkey recipe.  I'm not entirely sure what she thought I'd do with it the morning of Thanksgiving - as if I hadn't already planned and prepared for what I'd eat today, but it was nice to see she was thinking of me and possibly even recognizing that I could celebrate a holiday without meat (which, I've been doing for 12 years now, but apparently this only sinks in when I give up dairy and eggs too).

Anyway, in the words of Phoebe (from Friends), Happy Needless Turkey Murder Day!  I hope you find a way to celebrate it that's right for you.

Somewhere over the Rainbow... There's a Stephanie

Today I couldn't do a large part of my job because a certain customer-relationship management software refused to allow me access to some things I needed.

I called the company's support line, to let them know I needed them to fix... something and make it work.   Unable to find anything wrong on their end, the support person asks me if he can log in on my account to see if it works at his computer.

"Sure," I say, then quickly realize this means I'll have to give him my username and password over the phone.

This didn't bother me because of any security issues - though I have access to some sensitive information, support guy likely has more access to me so I'm not really worried about that.  No no, what I dreaded was giving him my password, which at the time (has since been reset) was a combination of the word "Rainbow" and some numbers.

He asks me for my password, and I spell it out in individual letters, avoiding saying the entire word Rainbow to the tech support guy.

"R-a-i-n-b-o-w" I spell out over the phone, and the support guy chuckles.  I guess that wasn't so subtle.

Something about being obsessed with rainbows makes people take me less seriously, I'm pretty sure.  I recall telling a friend once that I was "badass" because I have a tattoo, a tattoo that she quickly pointed out, is a rainbow peace sign.

I started to wonder today whether other self-described badass folks might also love rainbows, and I came across this site, which houses an electronic collection of "badass" rainbows (it is in fact, the first site you'll come across if you google "Badass Rainbow").  While some of the rainbows are more badass than others, I think the collection sufficiently proves that it is possible to be both badass and a lover of rainbows; in fact its mere existence assures me that people can love both badasses and rainbows, even though I don't find many of the pictures particularly entertaining.

By this point you've probably thought to yourself that I'm delusional; that it's possible for one to be badass and love rainbows, but not possible to consider Stephanie badass.

Sure, I turn on my Rainbow in my Room as a nightlight (a toy meant for children 5 and up, and a very well thought out gift from my friend Amanda) and stare at the rainbow projection on my wall until I can fall asleep every night.  But you know what I'm thinking about in these moments before my eyes shut and I dream about rainbows?   I think about what my next tattoo will be, and even if it's in rainbow colors it'll still be done with needles.  Or I think about leading a revolution and taking over the world to do things my way.  

As I prepare to turn 24 in 2 days - bet that's something you didn't know required preparation - I've done a good deal of reflecting on who I am and want to be in life.  Rainbow-lover, badass, grad student in her mid 20s who can't afford the internet at home so she's writing this at a coffee shop - whatever desriptors you'd use for me, they're probably accurate in one context or another.  I believe 24 is the 'official' start of my mid-20s, and I'm trying to figure out what exactly is it I accomplished in my early 20s, and what do I want from my mid 20s?  When I look back at my mid 20s, what descriptors will I use for myself?
In that spirit, Marco will be providing a guest-column on my blog tomorrow.  Thanks to the wisdom he's acquired in his several more years than me on the planet, Marco has already thought a great deal about his mid 20s, and graciously provided me with a piece he wrote entitled "Things I've Learned in my Mid 20s."  Perhaps these things will come a little easier to me, since I've already heard them from someone older and wiser, or perhaps not.  Either way, who doesn't like knowing what Marco has to say?  Read tomorrow.

Texts from Last Night's... Sexual Assault?

Yesterday during Counseling class, in between watching a 40 something year old video of a client telling her therapist she wanted to choke him (he would've deserved it, in my opinion) and job searching, I spent a little time reading Texts from Last Night.  I typically find this site highly entertaining (though I'm still bitter that my text about pole-dancing and arguing about the importance of feminism in the same bar, on the same night - was never posted despite Marco submitting it to the site).  Gloria, the client in the outdated Counseling video, got frustrated with and angry at her therapist, who literally squawked at her like a chicken and said she was too afraid to say what was really on her mind - until she blew up and said he treated her like he was better than her, like he knew everything and she knew nothing, and that it made her want to choke him.  While this exchange held my attention more than some previous videos I've been forced to sit through in Counseling class, I still find myself looking for an escape for 2 hours, something to keep my mind from what I'm actually sitting through.


Admittedly, I read texts from last night for some low-level humor - humor that I think qualifies as a silly escape from the real world.  I don't expect witty satire or humorous social commentary, I expect tales of waking up in a bath tub smothered in cheese, or wondering why there's a giraffe in the living room.  I'm perfectly aware that the site is a place to post foolish tales from the previous night told in text message format.  I enjoy clicking on the thumbs up or thumbs down to indicate whether I think it was a "good night" or a "bad night," and typically I do so without judgment of the texter in question.  Rarely do I read a text from last night that legitimately concerns me about our society, but evidently... it can happen.

I came across this text while surfing the site in class yesterday:

(425):
After grabbing my boob for a couple minutes he then decides to ask me if I was awake.


What upset me wasn't just the content of the text, but also the fact that the thumbs-ups for "Good night" outweighed the thumbs downs for "Bad night" by almost 1,000 votes.  Over 2,000 people thumbs-upped that it was a "Good night."  Call me crazy, but touching someone sexually while you're not sure if they're asleep or not is sexual assault in my eyes.  It's hard for me to think of that as a "Good night" for the person whose boob was grabbed by someone who didn't know whether this person was awake, and it's harder for me to make light of the grabber as someone who was just having a "Good night."  But apparently, there are at least 2,000 texts from last night readers who do not have such trouble distancing themselves from the issue of groping others while they may or may not be asleep.

I of course, immediately jumped into social problem-solving mode and contemplated ways that I could shame people into the realization that no, this isn't a "Good night."  I decided that if I clicked the thumbs down for bad night over 1,000 times, so that it caught up to and surpassed the good night votes, future readers of the text would see that the popular opinion was that this was a "Bad night" and they would agree (majority rules, right?).  I begin clicking as quietly as I can, still in the classroom and trying to be considerate as Gloria told her therapist how much she hated him (in 1963...).

I clicked over 200 times on the thumbs down, only to refresh and find that my 200 extra clicks were not counted - it was only counted once.  Apparently the site isn't designed for me to manipulate people into thinking mine is the majority opinion.  And frankly I don't know that it would've done any good to make it look on the site like more people were as disturbed by this text as I was; maybe it was just my attempt to think for a minute that people are as concerned about sexual assault as I am, or that they could be if they just thought others cared, too.  Or hey, maybe I'm underestimating the good nighters, who were motivated to vote good night by virtue of the fact that "he" did eventually decide to see if 425 was awake - maybe he realized he was doing something wrong and tried to correct it.   But, I have my doubts.

Gloria - fight back.  That fucker shouldn't get to disrespect you - he's been conditioned to because you're a woman and he thinks he's superior.  You said yourself he was treating you like a silly little girl.  Before you know it, he'll be laying next to you and grabbing your boob, without regard to whether you want him to, or are awake enough to consent.  He'll squawk at you like a chicken if you say you don't want it.

I'm really lucky (slash society is lucky) to have men in my life that are really good allies to women, aware of the effects of sexism and unwilling to tolerate behavior that contributes to our culture that condones rape and sexual assault in some subtle and some less subtle ways.   I love these men so much - too many people are not as bright and caring as them.

These boots were made for... combatting sexist oppression

Yesterday in diversity class, my professor led an activity in which we rattled off stereotypes about different social groups.  He handed out sheets of paper with a different identity label written on top, and I laughed as he passed out the papers and handed me the one that said "Gay."  I interpreted this as a sign from the Universe that it knows about my sinful ways.

I was instructed to write for a small group of my peers as we all listed stereotype after stereotype about gays.   After exhausting our knowledge of the stigmas attached to the identity of Gay, I asked my professor "Can I have the lesbians?"

The professor misunderstood my question (which was actually a hope that he enjoyed matchmaking and had hidden some lesbians in the classroom in anticipation of my request), and handed me a new paper that said "Lesbian."  Another group had already gotten us started with a few stereotypes, one of which included 'comfortable shoes.'   Now, while I don't identify as a lesbian, I share some things in common with them (like my interest in women, and evidently, my sensible shoe choices).   Today I was not as in touch with my inner lesbian as I usually am, and I put on heels, breaking my own #1 dressing rule - don't wear heels.

I hadn't worn this particular pair of heels since who knows when.  I discovered them recently as I made progress on unpacking from my move that was nearly 2 months ago.  They look sensible enough, I thought - business casual, closed toe shoes with a maybe 1.5 inch heel.  Not as unreasonable as some pairs of heels I still own from the days in which I hadn't yet done away with my short complex - I sported 3 or 4 inch heels without even flinching nearly every day in high school.  These 1.5 inch heels I braved today have a pink accent on a little black bow, thereby perfectly accenting the pink shirt I wore with a black skirt to work.  I can handle 1.5 inches, I decided, in the name of looking cute today (looking cute is a chore I rarely embrace, so when I'm in the mood to bother trying to look cute I roll with it).

 I quickly remembered why I have a no heels rule - when I wear heels I have the tendency to both hate the sound my shoes make when I walk down tiled or linoleum hallways, AND to curse myself all day as I acquire blisters on my toes.   So, when my 12 hour day ended at 10pm, I was excited to head home, take off my shoes, and promptly put them in a bag of shoes I plan to take to Goodwill as I work to reduce the evils of materialism and consumerism in my life - while refraining from being wasteful.  If someone else wants to succumb to the social pressure of wearing heels and cute shoes that hurt, far be it for me to force them to shell out the cash when I have plenty of uncomfortable (but cute) shoes that can help them accomplish all of their fashion goals while on a budget.

If wearing comfortable shoes is a practice I learned from lesbians - I'd like to thank that entire social group for the contribution they've made to my life.

On my drive home tonight, I realized I needed to make a quick stop at the grocery store.  I was out of coffee, and there's only one thing less tolerable to me than heels: not being caffeinated.  I hobble into the grocery store and towards the coffee beans, but am quickly stopped by a man.

"How do I know you?  You look so familiar." He tells me.
"I've... never seen you before in my life," I say, recognizing that he was probably just trying to find a reason to talk to me since I looked hot in my black + pink outfit with matching black + pink heels.
"Well I'll be honest," he says "I'm hitting on you."

Good for him, I value honesty.

"Are you married?" He asks me.
I stop to ponder for several seconds.  If I say I'm married, I'll be lying.  If I say I'm gay, I'll be lying.  If I say I'm bi but only looking to meet women right now- I'll be telling something closer to the truth - but it won't end the conversation right now so I can go home and sleep.

"Yes," I decide, I am married, though I'm fairly certain my 7 second pause before answering the question suggests I am lying.
"That's too bad.  Can't blame a guy for trying... a pretty little thing like you."
"I guess...." I roll my eyes, turn and start to walk away.

I can have patience with someone who is hitting on me and generally being nice and conversational, but I draw the line when someone calls me a "thing."

Later as I'm finishing up at the checkout line, the man ends up behind me.  I start to walk out of the grocery store with my stuff, when he calls

"Are you sure I can't get your number?"
"Yep," I say without turning around.
"I'll carry your groceries home for you!"
"No."
"I'll even cook you dinner!"
"No, I'm good."

At this point, several cashiers, a security guard, and a handful of customers are all watching me deflect his continued attempts to hit on me, as I walk out the door without turning my back, and his pleas get increasingly louder.   I do not need strangers to cause scenes with me in the grocery store.  My life is not a romantic comedy, and I am not going to change my mind based on his persistence, which frankly I find disrespectful (No means No, anyone??)

Comfortable shoes, I think, as I walk quickly to my car, hoping that I'll be out of the parking lot before persistent man walks out of the store (I was).   Comfortable shoes would allow me to walk quicker, and in less pain, and more importantly, it's easier to move and kick someone in the balls while wearing comfortable shoes.

I need sexy heels to appeal to straight men (a fairly low priority for me).  I need comfortable shoes to walk away from them quickly.  I need heels for making people look at me like a grown up because I'm short and female.   I need shoes that aren't sexy if I want to be taken seriously in a male-dominated workplace.  I need shoes that are sexy enough if I want to be valued in a straight male dominated culture.

Let's pretend for a minute that Nancy Sinatra was singing not about an individual, but about the 'system.' I hope she was right, System of oppression, power, and privilege.  One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.  Better hope I'm not wearing heels that day.

Ask and ye shall receive

Yesterday I complained that I had nothing to write about.

Today I found out that an English teacher at UMD was arrested for murder.  I hope for my karma's sake that the Universe didn't deliver this murder upon us just so I could have something to write about (seems unlikely, since this murder occurred on Saturday and I didn't find myself with writer's block until Wednesday).  Just to be clear, I do not hope for or advocate murders just so I have something to write about.  

At UMD, most juniors are required to take a 'Junior English' class (unless they got an A in their freshmen English class, which is nearly impossible to do unless you're sleeping with the teacher.)  I enrolled in a technical writing class with one of my best friends to fulfill this dreaded requirement, and much to our delight we ended up with a fun, liberal, pot-referencing lecturer who didn't take things too seriously.   This friend and I showed up high to nearly every english class period throughout the semester (I have since outgrown my penchant for arriving at class inebriated and now I prefer to bring my laptop and job search while I tune out professors).

One of our assignments involved giving instructions - it was a technical writing class, and people wrote various "How To" papers.   Needless to say, I can't remember what I wrote about, but I can remember having friends in other classes who came up with some bold How-To papers.  One friend, for example, did her assignment on "How to roll a blunt." 
Today I read this in the UMD school newspaper.   Having seen a handful of facebook statuses about a UMD English teacher being charged with murder, I felt compelled to investigate the school newspaper to be sure it wasn't Don.   No no, it was the English teacher who accepted papers and presentations on blunt-rolling, beer olympics, and how to shoot your boyfriend.  Actually, she wrote that last one herself, and her students all seem to acknowledge her tendency to "divert the class discussion to weaponry."  I read the various facebook statuses - informing me that Findlay was an awesome teacher, albeit one who was obsessed with sharing her stance on gun-control laws.   While I personally disagree with Findlay's stance on gun control (i.e. let's not have any), I can see where I might come around to her opinion were my home "well-armored" - and should I wish to own "tons" of weapons or shoot my boyfriend, I'd probably reconsider my own political views on guns and align myself more with Findlay's.

Writer's block

Today I sat in my useless waste of time Counseling class, laptop in front of me, with every intention of writing today's post.  I quickly realized that it wasn't a positive writing environment for me; I started a few times and ended up deleting every attempt because it sounded too depressing.  And yes, it's ironic that my Counseling class legitimately throws me into a severe depression for 2 hours every Wednesday (actual counseling, I've found does the opposite.  My intent here is not to hate on counseling as a practice, but the horrendous class I am subjected to each week).

To put into perspective my lack of ability to prioritize my classes this quarter, just know that today I scheduled a hair appointment fully well aware that it conflicted with my first class of the day.  I know that lacking self-motivation is my problem, and not that of my program's faculty, but it couldn't hurt for them to challenge me once in a while right?  Anyway, bitching about my grad program is exactly what I wanted to avoid writing about - mostly because it depresses me, and partly because I want my 3 regular readers and handful of occasional readers to continue reading my blog - something they may not do if it just becomes a daily expression of my lack of satisfaction with school.

Instead, I am soliciting topic ideas - so in the future when I am sitting in class looking for an activity to prevent me from running out of the room screaming while pulling my hair out, I'll have ideas to go to.  Thoughts, anyone?

Day 2: I'm Still Alive

Last night I dreamt I went to Taco Bell and ordered a bean and cheese burrito.  I quickly realized I couldn't eat cheese so I asked the cashier to change my order to a bean burrito.  Mildly disappointed that I couldn't eat cheese, but proud of myself for remembering before eating it, I had a short conversation with the cashier.  She argued with me about my order, unable to understand how I could order something without cheese.  Eventually she gave up and stopped caring that I wasn't going to eat cheese.

I woke up annoyed that I lived one day as a vegan before having a dream about ordering something I can't eat.   But then I realized my dream was not about the fact that I couldn't eat cheese - sure I forgot for a second that I don't eat it any more, but the issue was really someone asking me to justify my choices  to her.

I stood in line at the grocery store tonight, ready to purchase my avocados, soy milk, tofu, and a bottle of wine.  The customer in front of me purchased 12 frozen Banquet-brand meals (yes, I counted) - mostly of the Salisbury Steak and Cheesy Mac N' Beef variety.  I'm not suggesting that we judge this person for his consumption choices, after all, 1800 Banquet meals are prepared every minute.  If that many people are willing to eat Banquet frozen dinners every minute... well gee, how could that be disgusting?

It's just funny to me that people can be so quick to get... offended? by my dietary choices.  I was used to this at age 12, when I became a vegetarian, but as vegetarianism has become more socially acceptable, it's a stigma I've sort of forgotten about.  Now that I've chosen to eat vegan-ly, even on day 2 I can tell the stigma is back.  You eat tofu and avocados and soy milk, which contain nutrients?  But you won't eat Cheesy Mac N' Beef that has nearly twice the amount of sodium you need daily?  Freak.

Now, lest I sound judgy about my fellow humans who are meat-loving, Cheesy Mac N' Beef eating individuals, I should point out there is a large element of class that plays into our dietary choices.  The customer ahead of me in the check out line spent under $15 for his 12 meals.  That's kind of impressive.   And a feat not to be under valued if this person is concerned about money - and shopping at the Kroger at the corner of King and High, he probably is (though if one more person calls it Kro-ghetto in front of me.... I have half a mind to lock them in that Kroger until they've remedied their discomfort around poor people).   It's cheap to eat crap.  It's expensive to live well.  This is a problem to me, so I want to be clear that I understand money plays a big role in people's dietary choices.  

I spent far more than I would've preferred purchasing vegan friendly items today, but hey - that's why we invented credit cards right? Money aside, it would be impulsive and presumptive for me to say that going vegan has been easy (I'm not sure 2 days counts as a lifestyle change), but since when do I have an issue with being impulsive or presumptive?  Being vegan is easy.  I've eaten the same damn things yesterday and today that I'd normally eat - subtract a slice or two of processed, dyed Kraft American cheese, and add in mozarella soy cheese and some dark chocolate.  Lucky for me, I threw out the option of Banquet Cheesy Mac N' Beef over 12 years ago, so I haven't had the challenge of adjusting to live without that.

#5: Sparkly things

Last night I wore my red Dorothy shoes - which probably don't need any further descriptors.  I wore these as part of my devil Halloween costume on Friday and Saturday night - they were the perfect accent to my red dress and devil horns.  Sparkly things get attention, and I'll admit, sometimes I like attention.

Although last night was actually Halloween, I wore my sparkly shoes not as part of a third opportunity to dress up, rather because I was wearing a red shirt, and my sparkly red shoes matched.  I had sort of forgotten about these shoes until I dug them out for my Halloween costume, but make no mistake I did not buy them for Halloween; I bought them years ago when I was out shopping somewhere, and they got my attention because... they're sparkly.

Last year one of my students informed me that glitter and sparkles were tacky.  Naturally I pulled the boss card and told him he was wrong.  Last night, two girls at Karaoke approached me (um, what better place to wear sparkly things then when you're on stage singing?) and told me they were laughing and making fun of my shoes.   I didn't take this too personally, as they clearly appreciated my shoes and were not seriously making fun of them, plus I can't really blame them for being jealous of my sense of style.  Rather, I said something witty and clicked my heels three times before migrating back to talk to my friends.

Sparkly things also inspire creativity.  TJ, in a moment of genius, suggested we make an independent, social-justice oriented film in which I, an enlightened white girl, wear my sparkly shoes while working to end racism.  Don't like something some racist said?  Click, click, click the heels.  They're gone.  I'm not sure if TJ realized how easy it is for me to latch onto fun ideas like this when he made the suggestion, but there's no way I'm letting it go.  My next project will be writing a screenplay.  Sure, the Wizard of Oz is great and all, but how about the Wizard of Justice?  Okay, okay.  Still working on the title.  Suggestions welcomed.