Back in 6 Weeks

Give or take. 

I promise, this blog isn't totally defunct. 

I just have to finish school. I don't have time for ANYTHING it seems like. 

Bear with me - I'll be back. 

Image from Google. That's all I've got. Sorry.

A post about some great books I read recently

I just finished a few really great books. In light of that, I am going to throw them out into the universe in hopes that somebody, somewhere has either read them, or will read them based on that.

Book #1 was Starless by Jacqueline Carey.

I think this is now just my most favorite book in the history of books. I. FUCKING. LOVED. EVERY. WORD. I loved the high fantasy. I loved the gods and goddesses directly interacting with the denizens of the world. I loved the gender fluid protagonist Khai, and the differently abled princess Zariyah. I loved the inclusion of the many different cultures in the world that Carey so beautifully fleshed out (which is something that honestly, I always feel she excels at). I loved the struggles, the relationships, the adventure, blah, blah, blah. If you're tired of white guys rescuing white girls and then living happily ever after against the backdrop of high fantasy, give this gem a go. I guarantee you won't be disappointed.

5 out of 5 Items of Rating (I don't know what this is about, but it hit me in a moment of inspo, so I'm going with it)

The second book was Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee.

This one is just start to finish wonderful. The whole thing is infinitely quotable, so I won't ruin it for you. Just read it!

4.8 our of 5 Items of Rating. Reck. Ah. Mend.

The third book was Shrill by Lindy West. 

This book was ah-may-zing. I laughed so hard at some points that I may have cried a little. For example, when she gave examples of the "fat female role models" available in her youth. Every single example she gave was brilliant, and they all, in my opinion went a long way toward validating her claim that there was and continues to be little to no non-jokey representation of fat folks in media (and on a peripherally related note, can we all just agree already that the size of a person is a) nunya fucking business, and b) in no way representative of their status as a human being!). Which is nonsense, because there are many, many large-bodied individuals 'round here. Mostly this is a memoir about West's life up until now, and deals primarily with how she came to love and embrace her fat, opinionated self in spite of the pearl-grasping horror of many at the sheer concept that a large woman could feel anything but shame and self-loathing. Oh, and it was also about troll-slayage (the internet kind - no Treasure, bridge, or kindly trolls were harmed).

West provided a wealth of witty hilarity such as:

"When you’re a little kid, everyone talks about your period like it’s going to be a party bus to WOOOOOOOOOO! Mountain. It’s all romantic metaphors about “blossoming gardens” and “unfurling crotch orchids,” and kids buy into it because they don’t know what a euphemism is because they’re eleven. But it’s also a profoundly secret thing—a confidence for closed-door meetings between women."

"I don’t give a shit what causes anyone’s fatness. It’s irrelevant and it’s none of my business. I am not making excuses, because I have nothing to excuse. I reject the notion that thinness is the goal, that thin = better—that I am an unfinished thing and that my life can really start when I lose weight. That then I will be a real person and have finally succeeded as a woman. I am not going to waste another second of my life thinking about this. I don’t want to have another fucking conversation with another fucking woman about what she’s eating or not eating or regrets eating or pretends to not regret eating to mask the regret. OOPS I JUST YAWNED TO DEATH. "

but she also presents wise, wonderful gems like these:

"This is the only advice I can offer. Each time something like this happens, take a breath and ask yourself, honestly: Am I dead? Did I die? Is the world different? Has my soul splintered into a thousand shards and scattered to the winds? I think you’ll find, in nearly every case, that you are fine. Life rolls on. No one cares. Very few things—apart from death and crime—have real, irreversible stakes, and when something with real stakes happens, humiliation is the least of your worries."

"The breadth of my shoulders makes me feel safe. I am unassailable. I intimidate. I am a polar icebreaker. I walk and climb and lift things, I can open your jar, I can absorb blows—literal and metaphorical—meant for other women, smaller women, breakable women, women who need me. My bones feel like iron—heavy, but strong. I used to say that being fat in our culture was like drowning (in hate, in blame, in your own tissue), but lately I think it’s more like burning. After three decades in the fire, my iron bones are steel."

or

"Shame is a tool of oppression, not change."

4.5 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend

The last book was Gross Anatomy by Mara Altman.

This book is fun, funny, and kinda gross. Everything you could ever want to know about all the weird shit your body does/has/is. Altman clearly has a curious mind and the will to throw herself down some weird rabbit holes. There are personal anecdotes, scientific info, and even plenty of historical superstitions and hilarious cures.
See:
"One favorite douche of the era was made up of garlic and wine. “Wine-filled douchebags were probably the number-one go-to douchebag,” said Caskey-Sigety. These ancient ladies were impressive: They were willing to share booze with a body part that couldn’t even appreciate the flavor."

I also selected a few treasures (tray-jures!) from the chapter about the way we see ourselves and how/why it is different than the way others see us.

"There is nothing worse (except for murder, of course, and finding a long wiry hair in your entrée) than hearing someone say, “That’s a great photo of you,” only to get a glimpse of it and see staring back at you a mustachioed gnome with water-balloon cheeks and a grimace that could stunt-double for an elephant’s anus. If that is a “great” photo, then what am I when I’m captured at my everyday?"

"Trying to figure out what I look like by my image alone is like trying to figure out what a truffle tastes like by holding it in my hand. There’s more in my face—in everyone’s—than solely the superficial."

4 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend

This has been a stream of consciousness rant.

I have been an absent friend. And an over-committed, yet underachieving student. I have been a fairly shitty daughter/sibling.

I forget to stay in contact with people, and I wallow in the stresses of life and school.

I make excuses, but sometimes I don't even bother with that.

I don't know why I do these things, but I suspect that at least a portion of it is because I don't excel at being an adult - I am folding under the pressure.

I left behind friends and family when I moved across the country, but I also left behind most of a life that wasn't making me happy. Is life perfect now? No, I am a pulsating lump of human-shaped stress. But, I am in a better (for me) area, I definitely have a better job, and I have someone who makes me incredibly happy to share it with me. Day-to-day life-things still suck for us, but I think they'll get better.

Today's post brought to you by the letter G.

I'm not a post. I'm a terribly photoshopped picture

But I'm a picture that Angie made for her Shakespeare course. A boon if you can guess which play it is for.

The boon is nothing though. Sorry.

Time waits for no man...Or lady.

How has it been 2 months already?!

I will be 30-something in a few days. I've been in Portland for like a year and a half. And school is sucking my will to live. 

                                                     

I don't know if it cuts, but it certainly does suck.
This mothafuckah won't format right, and I just don't care anymore.

I am currently slogging my way through Intro to Web Design, News Writing, Fundamentals of Stage Makeup, and yet another Exploratory Prose course. There is a literal metric fuckload of homework to accompany those courses, which I am currently trying desperately to ignore. And it's only week two--I think this is indicative of smooth sailing from here on. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Throughout it all, I have made time for some light reading--namely I FINALLY got around to reading Anne Bishop's The Other series; at least what there is of it. I read five books in the 2 week break I had from school, and let. me. tell. you: I have not enjoyed five books quite that much in a long time. And here I had been hesitant because I'm just a little tired of kissy books (ahaha, that's topical, you'll see if you read them!). Well, they were not kissy books at all, let me tell you. Surprisingly light on the kissing. And here I thought all Urban Fantasy was all kissing all the time--an assumption I base entirely on my limited knowledge of the genre via Laurell K. Hamilton (bless you Holy Urban-Fan-Mother of Vampire Hunters and Sidhe, I love you, I just didn't want all the kissing and orgy-ing and whatnot this time around).

So, yeah, good times. I liked them, and I'm counting down the days to #6.

That's all you get for now, folks. I have to start my weekly trip through a week's pay in textbooks now.

But before I go, know this: I am currently reading Henry Rollins' Before the Chop LA Weekly Articles 2011-2012 (signed by St. Hank, thankyouverymuch), and his shiny brilliance has inspired me, so I will be expanding off a topic he inspired in the very near future--amazing frontmen/women and totally not disappointing sophmore albums. And then maybe we can trad band recommendations. Us, I mean. Not me and Henry Rollins. Unless he wants to do that, then totally. Quick, someone direct that man to my blog!

Thanks, Google. And Henry, I <3 U. #noshame

IKEA is Horrorstör

I will preface with the following disclaimer:

I have not read Grady Hendrix's Horrorstör - yet. But I know someone who has, and as it was explained to me, it seems pretty damned right-the-fuck-on. We went to IKEA like 2 weeks ago, and I still feel vaguely panicky. Why must it be a giant hedge maze? Why do they pipe in those fuccccccckkkked up smells? (I am not 100% sure this is true - it might just be the legion foul smells of my fellow meat-sacks)

I think this quote from the book nicely sums up my experience:
“There’s nothing waiting inside but retail slavery, endless exploitation, and personal subjugation to the whims of our corporate overlords.”

But, all is well that ends in me not falling to the floor in a mewling, twitching pile. We bought some very adult furniture.
                                     

Like this, but not. Google "adult furniture if you're in the mood to be equal parts bored and...whatever the combination of titilated and confused is - titfused?

We got the Vallentuna sofa (which I can't stop calling Valiant Tuna - so now we have a courageous fish couch), and a headboard/bedframe whose name escapes me because it was way less amusing. But they are both pretty cool because they have lots of storage (like, the couch is MADE OF STORAGE - ALL THE SEATS HAVE STORAGE UNDER THE CUSHIONS - WHY AM I YELLING?!!!)

I don't know why I'm blogging about this except that we have been in the PNW for over a year, and I still don't have any local friends to talk to. Also, between work and school, I don't really talk to anyone anyway.

This Week in College

This week I found a grammar error in my grammar text book. I kind of wish I was joking - I am paying somewhere in the neighborhood of an incredible amount of money for this course, and the writer of the textbook I am expected to take as gospel doesn't realize that when used in its proper noun form, Earth should be capitalized. I'm not salty, but...I'm a little salty. That is an $80 textbook for an $800 grammar class, and they can't even capitalize names properly.

I also drew a cat with large ears. Let's discuss.

I am a mother-fuckin' artiste!

Notice the fine line work, the incredible depth and dimension... Notice how quickly I decided that since this was for a Grammar class assignment, the quality of my drawing was unimportant. Lastly, notice how the couch just disappears into the wall like it is a wall-shaped fucking Stargate. In this story, I think that makes the cat.... James Spader, maybe? 

Now, on a completely (un)related note -- I just picked up Billy Idol's Charmed Life on CD from the Goodwill (you may know it as the 1990 album containing "Cradle of Love"). You probably don't know this about me, but I love-love Billy. I think he is a glorious. craggy man-god. I tell you about buying the CD because on the inside cover rests this little gem that I've taken a bullshit picture of: 

So now I feel like I have to write to Billy Idol. It's just become a Bucket List item. Logic dictates that since this address was valid for this purpose in 1990, it must still be so today, so... I'll let you all know how that goes.