This Is So My Internal Writing Mantra

I love writing fantasy epics. Really, I do.

(via Elizabeth Bear)

Let's Talk About Sex

After all, it's the theme of the latest Big Fat Carnival.

I take a perverse delight in watching all those reality plastic surgery shows where (mostly) women mutilate their bodies in the hopes of attaining beauty and "self confidence." These shows are set in places like Miami where "looking good naked" and having breasts that stand at attention without the aid of a bra are considered the holy grail of bodily perfection. Because we live in a Christian-based society where the outward appearance of the body is supposed to mirror our moral purity (EDIT: I have been schooled. This is not [duh] a Christian belief. It's actually very Greek. I think I was in Christian-rant mode after reading that ridiculous "frozen orange juice makes you a whore" post. My apologies to my Christian readers who, like me, have taken art history classes and know better. I would argue, however, that denying the body food is historically a Christian practice illustrating one's devotion and sacrifice to God, as documented in Holy Feast, Holy Fast.), it makes sense that so many people would seek perfection of body and soul at the edge of a knife.

Oh how I love these shows. One of the more popular surgeries, now that gastric bypass has become so popular, is the excising of loose skin. You get women who've been anywhere from 250 to 500 lbs going into surgery and getting great slabs of themselves removed. The doctor will hold up this massive peice of belly flesh and jiggle it in front of the camera, then lay it out on a tray so you can look it over. When you get a hunk of your midsection taken out, they have to re-sew you a new "cute" belly button. While he's at it, one Miami surgeon also likes to take out some of the vaginal "fat" just above the vagina because "so many women hate it."

You know, I've noticed a lot of fat on my body, but never have I paused to think about whether or not my vagina is too fat.

Losing weight also means losing breast tissue. I know this well. I was a full C for some time, and now I'm very near a B. This leaves your breasts a bit droopy - you know, like you might be, say 26 or 36 and not 15. To "fix" this "problem" many women also go in for breast lifts and implants at the same time they excise their "extra" skin.

They come out looking pretty damn good, depending on the surgeon. In a year or two, most of their scars are supposed to fade, and it'll be like they were never fat or droopy at all. They'll be perfect plastic people. This "fixing" of the body's "imperfections" is supposed to give them tons of self confidence and alter the way they walk into a room, the way they think of themselves, their SAT scores... Oh, sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Here's the secret that every fat girl should understand right now:

You're the same person at a size 2, 12, or 22. Losing the weight doesn't mean you automatically have more self confidence or a better swagger. These are things you have to work on every bit as hard as anything else in your life. Getting lipo or a breast lift doesn't make you any more interesting at cocktail parties, though we sure wish it would.

I ditched 20 lbs between 8th and 9th grade because my hormones were raging and I was tired of not having a boyfriend. Nobody looked at me. The guys who were interested in me were too terrified to be more than friends. That was their loss, not mine. But at the time, I didn't know that. I acted like a fat girl. I acted ashamed of the way I looked. I believed I wasn't attractive.

So that's the way the world looks at you.

Ditching 20 lbs, I thought, was what made more people look. However, it may just have been high school. Cause lots of people a lot heavier than me were getting laid too.

I was a little terrified about sex not so much because of the pain or the emotional crap (I'm not terribly emotional on the surface) but because I'd grown up believing I was too fat to be attractive. I watched tv. I knew what "beautiful" women looked like. I believed that wasn't me, and because that wasn't me, I had no value.

This was probably when I first started becoming a little obsessed about weight. Me, my brother and my sister had always had weight "problems." Several asshat relatives pointed out these "weight problems" to us and our parents all the time. One Aunt and Uncle went so far, I believe, to say that raising us the way my parents had was tantamout to child abuse, and they would *never* raise *their* children that way.

I started getting weird about food. I'd eat once or twice a day that first year of highschool, and not very much. It was typical highschool fare - a slimfast for breakfast, nothing for lunch, a cheeseburger or nachos for dinner while we worked at the theater. Sometimes dinner went out all together and I ate lunch instead. I never really stopped eating - I've tried being anorexic, and it just never worked for me.

It did, however, work for my sister. She stopped eating, blacked out in someone's kitchen one time, and dropped 100 lbs. She put most of it back on when she got pregnant, lost a little after she had the baby, and has been fighting with her weight every day since. She was so happy to get male attention when she dropped weight that she went a little crazy, and some crazy things occured.

Hence, I have a nephew.

heh heh

Which is the other big problem when you raise somebody in a society that tells them they have no worth until they lose weight - when they lose the weight, they believe all the hype, and start looking for their self worth and validation in the penis (or, in the case of one guy I know - the pussy). Dropping weight and increasing one's pool of sexual partners in a rather irresponsible way can often coincide. The problem is, you use the sexual partners to bolster your sense of worth, and that never works.

You've got to get that somewhere else.

That's why I spent five years single.

My brother lost weight about the same time - moving into highschool. He dropped 30 lbs just switching from Pepsi to Diet Pepsi. He dropped another 20 or so by running 3-6 miles every day. He continues running 3-6 miles every day, and is now quite lean. Growing into his 6'0 height helped a lot, too.

We were fat kids.

All three of us. The last time I was at my current weight, I told myself that I would be happy as soon as I lost 20 more pounds. I just had to lose that last 20 pounds.

This is a great way to make sure you're never happy with your body.

My weight obsessions meant my weight has spiked to as high as nearly 270 lbs when I was 18 (depression, bad relationship, being on the pill). Spiked again in South Africa at 230-240 (binge eating, stress). And it comes back down to my set point of 175-180 when I stop obsessing about food (like now).

And still, I have to work a little to stay here. I have to maintain my weight routine, eat enough protein, and pay attention.

Cause I'm a fat girl. And you know what? There's nothing wrong with that. I can beat the crap out of a punching bag a lot better than Paris Hilton can.

So, what happens when you rocket up and down this weight rollercoaster for most of your life?

The same thing that happens to those gastric bypass patients -

You carry your history on your body.

Loose skin, stretch marks. If you get it together when you're young, you may be able to tighten some of this up by weight lifting, but the stretch marks don't go away. Believe me. Rub whatever you want on them. You carry them around. They look like they hurt. They're physical scars. When you lean over, the skin bunches and sags, and everything droops.

My sister, after she'd lost her 100 lbs said, "I feel like I've ruined my body."

My brother has watched my father have a heartattack because of his lack of exercise and bad eating habits. That's not the life my brother wants. It gives him a lot of energy to run those 6 miles every day.

I'm not too keen on dying young either, or falling and breaking my hip, which is what my maternal grandmother did several years ago. Hence my obsession with weight lifting. It's one of the best ways to build and preserve bone mass.

The asthetics are a nice bonus.

But losing weight doesn't mean that I look like Paris Hilton. I won't be putting out a sex tape.

But I don't avoid sex either.

High weight, I realized, didn't mean I had less of a sex drive. Sure, I felt worse about myself - but a lot of that was media talking. The same people who were attracted to me at a 12 were attracted to me at a 22. The only one who had a problem with the weight was me.

I'm still considered a fat girl by current standards, and a rather ruined fat girl at that. I have a lot of body history. I've got lots of odd bumps and scars. My flesh is not smooth and unblemished. Everything I've been through, you can see it on my body.

And when I look at those surgery shows, I wonder if that's what's really going on: we're trying to escape our history, who we are, what we've been through, as if erasing that from our bodies will make us as smooth and unblemished as our skin.

We can pretend the times we believed were "bad" never happened. We can pretend we were somebody else. We can believe that no one loved us until we excised our history from our bodies.

It's such a wonderful fantasy.

It's wonderful because it gives us the illusion of starting over. It gives us the illusion of youth and confidence without going through the personal journey that most of us need in order to achieve that. It doesn't make us smarter or teach us new skills. You get the Christian-martyr pain out of it, and the fake baptizmal rebirth; rebirth through pain.

But you don't learn how to kickbox. You don't learn French. You don't become an expert pianist.

Maybe getting this "new" body will inspire you to be better. Maybe so. And if so, that's great.

But what inspires me to be better is looking at all that history, knowing where I've come from, seeing how far I've gone and how much further I have to go.

Because I have other scars, too. I have scars on my fingers from sword fighting in high school theater. I have a scar from when my cousin threw glass at me when I was eight. I have scars from when I tried to throw my cat into my wading pool. I've still got that goddamn scar from the first time I tried to shave my legs.

And I don't find those scars any more or less attractive than my stretch marks, my slightly droopy breasts, the extra skin I can pull away from my arms.

For all my imperfections, I haven't lacked for partners. The trick is, I only wanted the partners when I felt confident in myself.

I don't believe that excising my history would make me any more confident. Perhaps it would strip something away, but all of the stripping away would be external.

If you want to start over, start again, that starts from somewhere else, somewhere deep - a place you can't reach with a knife.

How To Be A Good Christian Wife

Ooooodles of entertainment. The comments are awesome

tDW Final Counts:

I'll do some more trimming for the final version, I'm sure, but I was doing counts last night, and here's where it stands:

Initial version completed May 2003: 202,183 words

Next version completed 2004: 183,000 words

Version that went out to agents: 141,465 words

Current version: 118,872 words

120K is a decent count for an epic fantasy. 140K was pushing it.

I do, however, love the idea that I basically cut 60K from the first version: I took out the equivalent of an entire book.

Revision fascinates me.

Genderfuck Ad

Kinda cute, mostly work safe.

(via boingboing)

Wow, the IRS Cashes Checks Faster Than My Bank Does

And yet, this doesn't surprise me.

In any case, finally sat down and opened up a savings account. Also paid my bills today: $400 in credit card payments and $300 in student loans.

And I wonder where the money's going?

I'll be putting aside $50 per paycheck to start, which is $100 a month, which isn't huge, but hey, gotta start somewhere.

Out

tDW is now out to my second round of readers.

I shall go collapse now.

Tomorrow....

God's War.

And, likely, some more outlining for Over Burning Cities, fantasy saga book 2, which is already in progress.

The New Pink Album

Buy it. Now.

It's good.

Trust me.


"Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)"

Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you
I love you so
Much more when you're not here
Watchin all the bad shows
Drinking all of my beer

I don't believe Adam and Eve
Spent every goddamn day together
If you give me some room there will be room enough for two

Tonight
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely
I'm tired
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely tonight

I don't wanna wake up with another
But I don't wanna always wake up with you either
No you can't hop into my shower
All I ask for is one ***kin' hour
You taste so sweet
But I can't eat the same thing every day
Cuttin off the phone
Leave me the ***k alone
Tomorrow I'll be beggin' you to come home

Tonight
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely
I'm tired
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely tonight

Go away
Come back
Go away
Come back
Why can't I just have it both ways
Go away
Come back
Go away
Come back
I wish you knew the difference
Go away
Come back

Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you
Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you
Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you

Tonight
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely
I'm tired
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely tonight

Tonight
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely
I'm tired
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely tonight

Tonight
Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you
I'm tired
Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Leave me alone I'm lonely
Alone I'm lonely
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you
Tonight
Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you

Getting My Money Together

I have $25 left in my account.

I do this every month.

I've been reading a book about mistakes women make about money (yea, yea, but honestly, read up on it. I do believe women have been trained to view money differently than a lot of men, if only in the way so many women are taught that either men automatically know more about money than they do or that they should just sit around and wait for a guy to take care of them. Not many guys do that), and I found myself perusing the magazine stacks at the airport yesterday looking for more magazines about weight training and nutrition. About halfway through my survey, I realized just how much time and money I've put into figuring out how to eat right and exercise.

And how little time I've put into figuring out how to

1) save money

2) make my money grow (that means investing, etc)

Now that I've got my nutrition and health stuff together, I figure it's time to switch gears and put all that energy I was using for the pursuit of a balanced diet and healthy attitude toward exercise and focus it into money matters. So it's time to read up about money, investing, get my fucking savings account fucking opened this week and set up the paperwork to get money automatically deducted into it, and then to start deciding how I'll invest bits of that once I have loose bits to invest.

Sure, I have a company 401(K) that I put 3% of my income into every month automatically, but that's chump change. I don't want to be one of those writers who has to beg people for money when she gets sick. I want to be financially independent.

I want to be able to take care of myself.

And money is a big part of that.

Surviving Indy

The goal is to leave the office no later than 6pm

Headed to the gym, took a nice long walk to dinner at a mediocre-to-bad cafe of the Bennigan's type called Max & Erma's. Stopped by the grocery store on the way back to buy lunch for today, lots of bottled water, and some rice pudding.

Watched some tv and sank into the best sleep I've had thus far in Indy. Which isn't to say it was great, but I actually *slept,* drug-free.

Have our Tuesday morning meeting at our client's office. Oh, yay. Can you just feel the excitement oozing off the page?

Line edits for tDW are all in. Just need to go through the notes I made, then it's off to readers.

YES.

tDW

Line edits for tDW are done.

Not a lot of major stuff: clipped and combined one more set of chapters for pacing reasons and reshuffled the order of a chapter for continuity/readability. Most of the edits were of the "defensive defense stance" variety.

I just need to input these when I'm in Indy this week, add a couple of things from the notes I made as I went through it, and lob it off to reader's by week's end.

No problem.

Then... on to God's War!

Most excellent.

"Writers" Who Are Just Plain Stupid

If you try and sell a Star Wars fanfic novel, you're doing so in violation of copyright law and George Lucas is going to have your ass for lunch.

Fucking idiot.

(via Nick)

Let's Get Back to the Golden Age Where Women Were Lobotomized By Their Husbands and Men Actually Got Laid

Who invents these women? Do they not read history books?

I'm remembering an anecdote Joanna Russ relayed in which one of her female students said, "I wish things could go back to the way they were in the 50s. Our roles and choices were so much easier."

Russ wanted to take her by the shoulders and say something like, "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You want to go back to the 50s where you had no voice, no autonomy? When you were a private slave owned by your husband?"

Uber easy.

That's one of the false beliefs about the "Golden Age" where women all knew their place and men were happy with their robot wives hopped up on valium (one of the other great myths is that all men were really happy with this set up, too, being married to mute women and having all of the financial and emotional responsibility of the house placed squarely on their shoulders. Yea, right. Partnerships can be oh so much hotter). Many people are deathly afraid of choices. The idea that "all you have to do" is get married, have kids, and get dinner on the table sounds great and "easy" until you do it. When your only creative outlet is vacuuming the house every morning, you're probably going to go a little spastic.

Are things tougher now? Maybe so. But you also have the ability to be financially independent, the choice to marry or not, date a woman or not, travel or not, have children or not, without the intense social stigma that existed in the 50s. Sure, you're still encouraged to marry and have kids and become some sort of superhero, but if you don't vacuum, don't have kids, and don't marry a man, it's not like you're ostracized from the village (well, most villages) and sent to live by the sea where you become the local witch.

Choices can save you.

Putting out for your husband when you don't want to or don't feel like it, however, isn't doing either of you any good. Sacrificing yourself for your kids doesn't do you or them any good, either. Call me crazy, but I think emotionally, physically, sexually, intellectually fulfilled people make way better parents than stifled, angry, repressed ones.

Fulfilled people make better worlds, overall.

Something tells me that encouraging your husband to rape you isn't the best way to go about making a better world.

And, Just to Top That Off

One of the guys in the office just asked me in the breakroom:

1) "How much weight have you lost?"

and

2) "How did you do it?"

I replied:

1) "I have no idea"

and

2) "I lift weights and eat a lot."

Yea. It's getting to be a tougher and tougher question to answer. I don't know. I just stopped fighting myself and my appetite one day, and decided I wanted to be strong enough to knock the shit out of somebody.

The rest sort of fell into place.

I Continue To Shrink

I have a confession to make:

I eat a lot.

I eat more now than I can remember eating in the past. Or maybe I did eat more in the past, but I ate it in three daily gorge-fests.

In any case, despite or because of the fact that I eat so much, I'm still shrinking. My size 12s are fitting better and better, and it's become nearly impossible to wear the 14s, even just for kicks (I like loose jeans, and they look good loose, but they fall off when I walk). I've been a little jumpy about the idea of ever being a size 10. I can't imagine it. I was a size 12 in the sixth grade.

Some of my fear of all this shrinking has goaded me into eating a little less healthy than I'd like. I prefer eating well because I feel better after doing it - whether this is physiological or just me not feeling guilty, I don't know, but I've been lax about the eating. Being on the road two days a week means I've been lax as well.

I had a bowl of chili and two grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner last night. A couple hours later, I had some ice cream. Breakfast was a bagel with cream cheese, 4 slices of bacon, oatmeal with fruit. Lunch was a chicken patty, chips, and tomato soup. I had two bagels, two drinkable yogurts, and some grapes for snacks throughout the day.

I seem to be incapable of living on less than 2800 calories a day without feeling deprived.

I've thrown out everything the dieting industry ever taught me about dieting, and suddenly I'm well on my way to being a "normal" size (oh yes, according to the stupid BMI chart, I'm still overweight. They can kiss my fat ass).

Still, I'm not sure that two grilled cheese sandwiches are the best way to go. Ideally, I'd like to add more green vegetables and more protein to my diet. I have another motive for adding protein - I'd really like to up the amount of weight I lift in the morning instead of adding more reps. More reps means I'll need to get up earlier, and that's just not happening. I think 5:30am is early enough.

I'm also concerned about my endurance, which is why I'd like to go back to a couple days a week at the gym beyond the yoga class. I want to get in a half hour of cardio and some more weights. I'm getting a little winded going up the three flights of stairs to our apartment, which shouldn't be happening.

It's springtime now as well, so I'd like to get my bike fixed up and spend some more time bike riding. Ideally, I'd have a bike that could make the 10 miles to work and the 10 miles back.

Dude, if I could commute to work that way even twice a week, I'd be totally buff.

I'd also like to expand some of my interests. I found a place that does bellydancing lessons for $8 a lesson. Trouble is, it's Tuesday nights, when I'm in Indy. I want to work out some sort of different schedule with Sarah about Indy. I'm spending too much time there.

Busy busy. Just the way I like it.

And at some point, I'll need to go clothes shopping again. Almost all my shirts are too big now. I look like I'm swimming.

Women Get Raped Because They're Stupid, Not Because Men Rape Them

Oh dear lord: Ladies, You Should Know Better: How feminism wages war on common sense.

I've been meaning to write a post about rape for some time, because it's all over the feminist blogs. When preppy white boys are accused of crimes that far too many people think are only committed by "sociopaths" or blond girls go missing in Aruba, the media has a field day. There have been some pretty shitty rape cases in the media lately (why now as opposed to, say, every day as it happens, well, anyway) - Duke being one, the woman who was videotaped being gang raped and had obscenities scrawled on her being the other.

And now we have a great opinion peice of the usual "blame the victim" sort.

Apparently, feminists "rarely discuss what to do to reduce the likelihood of a rape. Short of re-educating men, that is."

Because re-educating men so they know that rape isn't OK would be a bad idea?

WTF? What planet is this woman from?

"But just as sociopaths exist on the Lower East Side, they exist on college campuses."

Rape - particularly gang rape and even more so gang rapes done by members of sports teams - are socially constructed events. They exist to "bond" team members together, to assert power and masculitity. It's not about overpowering erections that overwhelm a man into thinking that forcing himself into someone else's body is cool. That's why you see so many men substitute things other than penises to force into women's bodies, particularly during gang rapes - they can't get it up. They aren't terribly turned on by it, or they don't cum, and they risk looking like "pussies" in front of their "friends."

But teaching men that rape isn't OK surely isn't the answer. The answer is teaching women that - unlike men - they aren't allowed to get drunk at parties, or go out drinking alone. They aren't allowed to go out after dark and go jogging - if they do, they're asking for it! They're being stupid. Going to big college parties is part of the college experience, but women shouldn't go, and shouldn't drink. They shouldn't hang out with men at all.

Might as well slap on a veil and start enacting a curfew for women, cause all those women wandering around at night are just too much a temptation. The fact that you're born a woman means you deserve whatever power-hungry act is committed against you.

Fuck that. Fuck you.

The best way to change this fucking behavior isn't to hunker down under your sofa and hide. The best way to change it is to get the fuck out there and assert yourself. Fight back. Be bold. If you hide away, you've already accepted the fact that you're a born victim cause you've got a vagina.

Take precautions? Sure. Stop going to parties because all the men are going to rape you?

No fucking way.

Teach men not to rape women. Fight back if they do. Stand up and make the charges. Know where your boundaries are. Make sure the men know it, too.

Raise your sons not to be rapists.

Raise them to be decent human beings. Raise them to heroes.

And raise your daughters to fight back.

In a survey conducted two years ago by the Harvard School of Public Health, one in every 20 women reported having been raped in college during the previous seven months. Rape statistics are notoriously unreliable, but the kicker rings true: "Nearly three-quarters of those rapes happened when the victims were so intoxicated they were unable to consent or refuse." And those are just the ones who admitted it.

And the reaction of a man to an overly-intoxicated woman?

Rape her!!!!

Whatever.

Here's an idea: how about we teach young men not to rape women? And yes, that includes women who are passed out.

Gee, that's an idea.

I got drunker than shit in college - usually with groups composed almost exclusively of men.

I once stumbled back through the snow to my dorm at 2am while hopped up on enough tequila and orange juice that I don't remember key incidents of the night - like when I barged into my neighbor's room and apparently started undressing and fell into her roommate's empty bed. She managed to usher me to the RA, who helped me retreive the keys I'd locked in *someone else's* room, and got me into bed where I promptly passed out and spent my entire Thanksgiving hung over to all shit.

I developed a taste for 7&7. More of the alcoholic 7 than the other one. I learned to mix drinks that tasted like jet fuel. I once happened to end the night with a guy who suggested we have sex. I said no. He suggested we make out for awhile. A couple drinks later, that sounded OK, so we did. When he suggested we start taking off clothes, I left. He never pushed, and apologized the next day because he felt he'd pushed too much by asking if we could make out.

I went to a packed house party and downed vodka straight and some guy grabbed my ass. I hit him.

I went to a cabin in the woods with a bunch of guys, drank 8 beers and 5 vodka and cranberry juices and projectile vomited over the porch and made out with one of the guys. When he suggested sex, I laughed at him and said I only had sex with people I loved. We stayed up all night smoking and talking about lost loves.

I was very fortunate in my college days to hang out with good guys who - even when just as rip-roaring drunk as I was - backed off when I clearly said no. Yes! It's true! Men can have common sense and decency! Drinking and making out were fun, but I drew my lines very clearly, and they respected that.

It also helped that I was in one-on-one situations, and I'm very clear about my "no"s. Groups of guys - again, particularly those involved in sports - are going to be more likely to bully. As a member of the group who suggests you back off, who says "maybe this isn't right" might get you branded as some kind of "fag" (oh, for the day when that's not a *bad* thing!), but it will also mean standing up for human decency. Not enough boys and men speak up in those situations. Too many go along with the group, too terrified, too cowardly, to say no.

I had two guy buddies who - throughout high school - had a "rule" that no matter how drunk they or the women they were with got at parties, they wouldn't go past the making-out stage. No sex. This meant one of my guy buddies had made out with so many women by the time he was 22 that I felt terribly intimidated by his count, even if he was still a virgin (that ended soon after - non-drunkenly [so far as I know] for him), when the Love of His Life jumped on him.

There are good men in the world. There are men who know what the boundaries are. They know right from wrong.

So for somebody to tell me that the "problem" with rape is that women are just stupid is offensive to both women who enjoy going out and getting drunk and the men who strive to be good, decent human beings by respecting sexual boundaries.

There's lots of fun to be had between men and women (and etc), and it's the fuckers who aren't taught where the lines are or who are too cowardly to decide on their own who are the problem - you can't blame a woman for her brutal rape and/or death at the hands of a bunch of gang-rapists because she chose to go jogging at night. That would be insane. That's saying we live in a society where men aren't responsible for the crimes they commit because they can't "control" themselves. We're going back to the old "Crimes of passion" defense.

Give me a fucking break.

The radical-feminist message was of course wrongheaded--most men are harmless, even those who play lacrosse--but it could be useful as a worst-case scenario for young women today. There is an alternative, but to paraphrase Miss Manners: People who need to be told to use their common sense probably didn't have much to begin with.

To sum up: Woman, you were raped because you're stupid.

Not because the men who raped you are assholes.

Who writes this fucking drivel?

I want to see an article that tells men to "use common sense" when deciding whether or not to have sex with a woman. You know, common sense like:

1) if a woman is passed out, don't rape her
2) if a woman says no, don't rape her
3) if a woman only says yes after you hit her a bunch of times, you're still raping her.

Dumbass.

Work Woes

Well, Yellow's last day is Friday. I'm going to miss that dorky motorcycle riding guy.

Yellow's resignation is the latest in a long string of rats fleeing from a burning cane field: the head of our entire branch of the org, Mr. Dollar, resigned two months ago. My dearest boss ever (who once brought *me* coffee - which was probably the sexiest thing a man has ever done for me), Blaine, resigned last month to spend his time at his lake house (he deserved it), and Mr. Dollar's second just resigned two weeks ago.

When all the rats start jumping, you know it's time to go. The only bright spot is that my new boss is Sarah, our construction manager, who is getting a much deserved raise to Project Manager. So at least I know I won't be working for a fucktard. Sarah is awesome.

Unfortunately, as usual, no one has responded to the frantic resumes I've lobbed out into the world, not even the temp agencies. When Yellow came in and said Friday was his last day, I moaned, "How come I'm the only one who can't find a job!?"

I need to get serious about it. The actual "job" finding isn't the hardest part - the hardest part is finding something in my salary range. I've gotta make at least 40K if I'm ever going to dig myself out of the last of my debt and put money into savings.

And, um, buy books.

And some fish.

Ah, you see my problems.

A Blessing: I'm Bored At Work

List ten favorite novelists:

1) Mary Renault
2) Angela Carter
3) Joanna Russ
4) Ernest Hemingway
5) Rupert Thomson
6) Honore De Balzac
7) Isabel Allende
8) Jacqueline Carey (I forgive her for Banewrecker)
9) Gene Wolfe
10) George R.R. Martin

List ten favorite nonfiction authors:

1) Jared Diamond
2) Barbara Ehrenreich
3) Naomi Wolfe
4) Elaine Scarry
5) Thomas W. Laqueur
6) Joseph Campbell
7) Louise White
8) Antjie Krog
9) Cynthia Enloe
10) Michel Foucault

List ten favorite poets:

1) Sharon Olds
2) Charles Simic
3) Emily Dickenson
4) Robert Frost

Gee, I really need to read more poetry.

List ten favorite movies (I could watch all these movies 20 times in a row - and in some cases, I have):

1) Titanic
2) Romancing the Stone
3) The Matrix
4) The Fifth Element
5) The Princess Bride
6) Aliens
7) Terminator 2
8) The Pillow Book
9) Bend it Like Beckham
10) 40 Year Old Virgin

List ten favorite musical artists/groups:

1) James Horner
2) David Bowie
3) Tom Petty
4) Everclear
5) The White Stripes
6) Loreena McKennit
7) James Blunt
8) Nivana
9) Enya
10) The Dixie Chicks

List ten favorite magazines (these are all I read):

1) Oprah
2) Hers
3) Oxygen
4) Bitch
5) National Geographic
6) Scientific American
7) Discover
8) Locus

List ten favorite TV shows:

1) Buffy
2) Carnivale
3) My So-Called Life
4) Absolutely Fabulous
5) "V"
6) Dark Shadows (the 1990s version)

As you can see, I believe most television shows are crap, and haven't been addicted to very many.

Progress

Halfway done with tDW line edits. The first third have been input into the text.

Clipping along nicely. Can't wait until this is out to readers so I can concentrate on God's War again.

What We're All *Really* Craving:

We just need to leave our cars in the garage, stroll down to the park, and play some softball with our neighbors on a Saturday. We just need to enjoy every last bite of our home-baked birthday cakes, then have some oatmeal for breakfast the next morning. We need to resist the pressure to overwork and underenjoy. If we want to live long, healthy, happy lives, then we need to stop believing the hype. We need to rediscover our own wise instincts that know far more about well-being than a whole country of experts.

(via alas)