August 27, 2014

Radical or Pro-Parental

When I was little, I  remember constantly telling my mother in screaming fits that I hated her and she would hold me down and hug me and tell me she loved me anyway. This is what comes to mind when things like #WomenAgainstFeminism or female MRAs permeate my well-maintained bubble of white light, as seems to be the case increasingly these days. This “wave” of anti-feminism is hitting the internet like a tsunami and it’s leaving a lot of feminists on the opposite shore empty and at low tide. Feeling defeated. Feeling like, what’s the fucking point if we, as women in general – feminists and anti’s alike – are just going to fight among ourselves rather than work together for common goals that benefit the whole?  I can’t really speak for anyone but myself and a few friends, but I honest to god had no idea that SO MANY women would be anti-feminist. Because that’s like being anti yourself and that’s just fucking crazy. But no, they’re out there and there’s a whole lotta vum. And rather than react, I’ve been listening – or trying to, as much as I listen to anything – because whether they like it or not, what’s important to them is important to me because as much as they kick and scream and say they hate me, I listen and send them love, as lame as that sounds, because more than anything I want to understand. Anti-feminists and female MRAs are interesting to me in the way a serial killer might be interesting to someone into true crime shit. (Yeah, I did just compared them to serial killers, but I didn’t mean they were actually *like* the serial killers in what they do or anything.) Female anti-feminists are interesting to me because I’m interested in why and how people have come to the conclusions they have or believe the things they do about a topic I’m interested in, when they are (often) the complete opposite of my own beliefs, ESPECIALLY when I feel those beliefs are against the person’s own best interest. It’s like when poor people vote Conservative, I see these political arguments and memes on social media and think, “you realize this guy’s gonna fuck you right?” but they do it anyway because reasons or whatnot. Or worse, when people tell me they actively DON’T vote. Just like, never tell me that. Please. It hurts my heart. Even just tell me you’re too lazy to vote, that’s a completely acceptable answer. Feel free to not vote, do whatever the fuck you want, but my friends know better than to tell me about it because it makes me insane(r).

I actually have a friend who, I’m not sure if she identifies as an actual MRA or if she’s just more on top of men’s issues than anyone else I know, but she’s flat out told me she’s not a feminist. She was the first  woman I’d ever met (or have a relationship with) who didn’t identify as a feminist on some level and when she said it, pretty early on our relationship, it sorta knocked my socks off because she’s, to me, this badass, Amazonian woman with a huge mohawk and piercings, in combat boots; who goes to shows by herself, gives no fucks and listens to Ani DiFranco, whom I recently heard described as being the most misandrous musician ever. (I don’t know any of her music, but Blake likes her so that’s probably accurate.) My friend is also a camgirl and I just kind of assumed all camgirls were feminists by nature of what we do and how we all support one another. This friend especially because I know she’s super pro-sex workers and until that moment, I assumed that was a feminist thing!  But that issue doesn’t “belong” to any one group other than sex workers themselves, so that was pretty dumb of me to think. I also completely understand my friend not wanting a label and that’s why I’m not giving her one now – as being an MRA or being anti-feminist – because she’s never claimed that label and she’s never said she’s actively anti-anything and she has said specifically that she doesn’t want to identify with any groups. That was 3 years ago though, and now there’s been this wave of anti-feminists speaking up, so it’s possible she’s changed and has claimed a label. And that’s okay. Mostly we don’t talk about that stuff, though, because we respect the fact that we each see things differently (although I maintain we have more in common than different). She puts up with my “feminist crap” though (my term, not hers) and that’s all I can ask for in a friend. Tolerance. We come from hugely different places, I think, while still believing a lot of the same things and liking the same things and that’s why we’re friends, but on this one thing, I probably drive her bonkers because I’m cool with the feminist label. I wear it proudly. Blake’s cool with the label. Madison’s cool with the label. Wes wears a pink “feminist” 1″ button on his backpack after we asked him if he thought he and Madison should have the same rights and he said, “duh”. We’re all a pretty feminist family and I post feminist crap all over my social media and while I would not call myself a “hardcore” feminist, it sounds like my friend has met some women who have identified as “hardcore” feminists, who I probably wouldn’t agree with completely either by the way they were described.

Anyway.

It’s awesome having friends with different points of view than you and we should love anti-feminists as hard as we know how, even if they don’t appreciate us, because they are proof of feminism’s success. Feminism has been so successful that a lotta women don’t even feel they need it anymore. Yay us! There’s still so much to be done, but don’t you see that as successful? As progress on some demented level? Because I do. At first it made me sad but after digging around and reading what these women have to say, this is what I think.

I dunno, those thoughts just popped into my head. Work meeting in 40 mins.

June 22, 2014

#YesAllWomen #NotAllMen

Last night I had to work until 2am and around midnight, I asked Blake if he would go get me a slush at the convenience store up the street. So he goes and about 5 minutes later, the home phone is ringing and it’s Blake. So I pick it up and he’s like, “I found this girl who’s hurt, I gave her my shirt, can you let her know that it’s okay to come to our house?” so I’m like, “uhhhhhh…so like, she knows you’re not a rapist or something?” and he says, “you’re on speaker”. So he says where he is which was just a few minutes from our house, just down the street, and I tell the girl that it’s okay to come to our house and we can help her because I didn’t know what else to say and she gets in the car and Blake hangs up.

A couple of minutes later, in walks this girl who is YOUNG, like I didn’t think she was older than 18. (She had to be older than 18 though, which I’ll explain in a sec.) She’s blonde and cute and not wearing shoes. Blake’s not wearing a shirt because she’s wearing it. Blake steers her toward the couch in my office and he tries to get some information out of her, like what her name is, who can we call etc etc etc. She couldn’t remember where she lived. She told Blake she couldn’t remember what happened but she told me when Blake wasn’t in the room that she was running from boys who wanted more than she was willing to give. She couldn’t remember what her boyfriend’s name was, or his phone number. She finally gave us his name and where he worked, which was the Honda plant in Alliston, so Blake googled that and called them and got a hold of someone eventually and they said he wasn’t scheduled to work at that time and wasn’t there. He tells her this and she eventually gives him enough information that Blake ended up calling who she  told me was her step-brother but ended up being her boyfriend’s brother. When she was on the phone she begged him not to tell her dad. She didn’t know where she was. She thought she was in a town nowhere near the town she thought she was in.

Blake took over the conversation and made plans for him to meet this guy with her. As he was on the phone with the, we’ll call him “friend” since I’m not totally sure of their relationship, I cleaned up her scraped elbow the best I could and she showed me her hip, which was all messed up and she said hurt a lot, and her knees, which were red but not scraped because she’d been wearing pants during whatever happened to her.

The dogs seemed to really comfort her. Throughout most of the time she was here, she was sitting beside me and both dogs, like they somehow knew she needed to be comforted, acted their suckiest and let her cuddle and pet them and she told me they were “wonderful”. This made me glad because I really did have to work and I didn’t know what to say to her. In between silences, she would just bury her face in Hoover and sob. :o(

Finally it was time for Blake to take her to Barrie, so they left and she thanked me and I told her if she needed ANYTHING to call us (Blake had written down our information for her in case she didn’t remember anything in the morning).  Then I continued working.

When Blake got back, he said she hugged him when they got to Barrie, which made him super uncomfortable but he understood.

He wasn’t satisfied with the whole thing though, so he went into town to investigate.

As it turned out, there was a buck and doe at the community centre and they saw her run down the alleyway/parking lot behind the bar. So Blake went to the bar and the ladies there said the girl had been with a group from Angus (where the tornado hit this week) and she’d been drunk, took her top off and went on stage to dance around with the band that was playing and basically, what did she expect? She was looking for that kind of attention. The people at the community centre saw a woman in distress and did nothing.

What I think happened, is that she went behind the bar where people go to smoke and guys got rough with her there. Enough so that she would run away crying. That would explain where she came from according to the people at the community centre. Her injuries may have been because she fell, but they could also have been from men hurting her.

Anyway, we’re just glad she’s home safe.

Here’s Blake’s post about it, he probably did a better job at telling the story than I did.

Posted at 4:25 pm in: Canada , Feminism , Life , Misc. , Spring , Summer , Sunnyland , Women
June 12, 2014

Election Day!

A pic I took the other day of how ridiculous the signage is.
There were easily 14 or 15 signs.
It’s like they’re having a sign war.

This morning I drove the kids to school because they were late and would have to run and Madison was wearing a dress. Since I drive right through the parking lot of the voting location on my way home, I figured I’d just pull in and get it done before things got crazy. I also really wanted a sticker that said “I voted!” because I’ve never gotten one and I always assumed it was because I always voted in the evening. Well. I did not get a sticker, but I did do my civic duty. All by myself. For the first time ever in all my 17 years of voting. So be crazy proud!

So that’s the good news…here’s what happened yesterday that almost made me title this post #YesAllWomen but I was afraid that if I used a “feminist” title, some people would be less likely to read this. Yesterday I grabbed Chinese food and went to Woodland Beach, which is near my house. At Woodland Beach, the parking is parallel to the beach, so it’s on your left when you park and ahead of you is a sparse evergreen forest with wooden walkways that lead to picnic tables or the beach itself. There was no one else there. I parked in the very last spot, right next to the water, rolled down my windows and smoked a joint while I paid for parking. I parked far away enough from the ticket machine that I smoked an entire joint getting there, paying, and getting back to the car.

I spent a bit of time getting myself situated; pushing the steering wheel all the way up, putting the seat all the way back, getting my book out and propped in such a way that would enable me to eat and read at the same time, getting my food set up on the passenger’s seat etc. Finally settled, I grabbed the box containing 3 egg rolls and started eating and reading. (I only eat the outsides of egg rolls. Sprouts really gross me out.)

Not 3 minutes later, a navy blue car that looked like an SUV but was smaller than one, pulled up about 5 spots away from me and 2 guys get out and start talking to each other across the hood but I couldn’t really hear what they were saying. But whatever they were saying, they both glanced at me several times. I would have pegged them at around 22 years old, give or take. I didn’t think much of it at first because I was stoned and there was food in front of me, so priorities, but as they disappeared and I lost track of where they were, the hairs on the back of my neck started sticking straight up. There I was: a small, unarmed girl in a secluded area, all alone. If those guys decided they wanted to rape me, they would have little trouble. I rolled the windows up almost all the way and locked the doors. I probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought but there was no reason for them to park so close to me when it was so far from the ticket machine and there were 20 other empty spots to choose from that were closer to the machine.

This really really freaked me out and was very triggering because I felt vulnerable in a way that was identical to when I was raped. It also made me incredibly sad because I was doing so well with immersion therapy partly because I “decided” that I was going to feel safe without the help of anyone else because usually when I don’t feel safe it’s unfounded and part of mental illness. That’s not what this was. I mean, keep in mind that up until mere weeks ago, I never ever went anywhere without Blake to protect me from all the world’s dangers whether it be snotty salespeople or rapey guys. This place that I really really liked where I’d felt completely safe for weeks didn’t feel safe anymore and I wanted to go home and cry but I had just smoked a joint, so before returning to my book, I took multiple pictures of their vehicle, figuring that if they raped and killed me here, Madison, who would inherit my phone, would maybe put 2 + 2 together when she’s browsing my photos and those are the last ones.

I took anti-anxiety meds and ate my egg rolls but by the time the panic subsided, the rest of my food (Special Dinner For One, #2!), was inedible because it sat in a styrofoam container for too long and everything got soggy. :o( So there was $10 down the drain that I totally could not afford. Wes ate it when I got home.

I’ve decided that even though I don’t have dog seatbelts yet, one or both of them are going to come with me when I go to Rapey Beach. I’m not sure what either of them would do if I were actually being hurt. Hoover gets pretty fucking scary just when we’re playing or he’s grumpy,  and Lucky’s meek and a big scaredy cat but when someone’s at the door, he’s usually the first one there to check the person out and if he gets past you and it’s a kid he doesn’t know, he may snap at them, but that’s the only aggression I’ve ever seen in him. The dog has separation anxiety for god’s sake. That’s the reason why I may have to take both of them with me or just Lucky. Lucky’s fine at home without people as long as Hoover’s with him, but I’m not sure how he’d do without Hoover.

Anyway, that’s what happened yesterday that has me feeling a little gunshy about this whole driving places by myself business, but I’m not going to let it beat me because I’ve been down in the muck long enough. In fact, right now I am going to pack up my shit, pack up the dogs, grab a pizza to share with them in Penetang and bring it to Balm Beach with my book.

Btw, I was serious when I asked for ideas of things I can put in my lunch bag to bring with me to the beach. Yesterday I brought goldfish crackers for something salty and mandarin oranges for something sweet. I ate the oranges but I’m going to let the kids have the rest of them. I just don’t like fruit in plastic, it’s different, like the texture of the oranges is different. Mandarin oranges in single serve pull-top cans don’t exist anymore, it’s all plastic. Normally I buy store brand mandarin oranges in a can for 99 cents and those are good but it’s too much (for me) for one serving and I don’t want to have to bring a can opener with me.

Okay, peace oot.

PS. I’m reading “Girls At the Front” (finally, it was gifted to me a long time ago), which is about Riot Grrrl so I was actually reading that and listening to Bikini Kill while being scared strange men were going to rape me.  Which seems…counter-intuitive?

February 24, 2014

Let your backbone slide…

Canada won gold in both men’s and women’s hockey and curling. Our tagline for these Olympics was #WeAreWinter and while all the other events were important, it’s those two that are at the heart of Canadian sport. We finished 3rd in the Olympics overall, which is cool by me!

I wore my Team Canada jersey for every game…

…and yesterday, when we won the men’s gold medal hockey game I did something that I sorta think is pretty brave. It’s one of those things that only I’ll think is brave (and Blake), probably, but I’m going to write about it anyway as insignificant as it may be.

Yesterday after the game, I wanted to go to Liquid Chrome, which is the local head shop, because I needed to get Purple Power (glass cleaner for bongs/pipes etc) and screens (you put in the bottom of the bowl of your bong/pipe so your weed doesn’t get sucked through the hole) and we keep forgetting to do it. Also, since my birthday is on Saturday (send me money for Florida since I took the week off unpaid! :oP), I wanted to see if they had any novelty rolling papers with birthday cakes or candles or cupcakes on them. I also, since we’d just won gold, wanted to see if they had any Canadian flag papers because I’ve seen those on TV before. Then I decided, after going to the website of one of the bigger flavoured paper manufacturers which was a brand I knew Liquid Chrome carried, that I wanted a few other different types of papers, depending on how much they were. I made a list and we decided to go.

Halfway there I started freaking about two things:

1. We would be getting there half an hour after they opened and I didn’t want to be their first customer. Blake assured me we wouldn’t be and that they’ll be happy to see us because they want our money.

2. I was still wearing my jersey and that made me stick out like a sore thumb, a target. A target, I figured, for positive stuff since we’d just won gold and everyone would be out celebrating (you’d think), but even that’s embarrassing so I kinda wanted to die at the idea of getting out of the car. Blake again told me it would be okay.

On the way there I took half an olanzapine and when we were almost to Liquid Chrome, I put 3 Ativans under my tongue and then Blake parked like, RIGHT in front of Liquid Chrome. We had to sit there and wait for a little while for my Ativans to dissolve and for Blake to talk me down. See, the thing with Liquid Chrome is that, despite it being one of the coolest places in Barrie and despite the fact that I know I have every right to be there, it’s an intimidating place because it’s a “boy store”. Whenever I go in there I’m always the only girl and it’s sometimes a really uncomfortable experience because it feels like the (all male) staff don’t want to be dealing with me. I just typed “but that could be me COMPLETELY projecting” but then I remembered that yesterday I came home with a complimentary calendar featuring scantily clad women featuring some of Liquid Chrome’s most interesting pieces. It’s a dudebro store. That is a calendar for dudebros.

Anyway…we go in and just as I’m going through the front door I freak and turn around to go back out, running into Blake’s chest because I was still wearing my “safety goggles” (star-shaped, glitter sunglasses) and didn’t have my glasses. I slipped off the safety goggles and went into the store. The guy behind the counter, where all the stuff I needed was, was helping someone else so I just looked around at all the pipes while trying to summon courage to talk to the guy and while Blake ran my safety goggles to the car and bring back my glasses because I wouldn’t be able to read the paper boxes behind the counter without them. Blake came back and I handed him the list and said that he needed to do the talking because I just couldn’t. I explained to him the order of importance of each type of rolling paper and then the Purple Power and screens and we waited in line behind this guy who was big enough that I couldn’t even see who was working behind the counter. A couple of other guys milled about the first floor, not sure about the second and third floors.

Eventually the guy behind the counter says to Blake, “have you been helped?” and Blake said no, so he ended his conversation with the big guy and we were next. I was glad to see it was the guy who owns the place. I don’t know his name but every time I’ve been in there and dealt with him, he’s been great. But then again, he owns the place so it’s different and still, every time, Blake has to get the ball rolling. That’s on me though, not the Liquid Chrome guy. So Blake asks how much all the papers are and the guy tells him, then he says, “the next thing we need are rolling papers with something birthday-related on them…” and the guy finds said item and puts it on the counter. They’re king-sized and the rolling machine I use is regular so I’ll have to cut them but they’re exactly what I wanted and I said exactly that to both of them. Then Blake asks for the ones with the Canadian flag on them and the guy sorta smirks and says, as he’s reaching for the top shelf, “we have these called O Cannabis…” and he shows us and they were awesome so I said, “sold!” and then from that point forward it was pretty much me who did the rest of the talking. We did just ultimately hand him the list to find papers because it’s easier but we talked throughout the experience and it was just chit chat and everything was fine. I walked out of there proud of myself for not only NOT just walking out, but staying there and not just participating in the interaction but basically leading it for the purposes we were there for. So yay me. :o) It’s not a huge thing, like I said, but it sort of is for me.

And that is my story.

PS. I also got maple syrup flavoured papers with maple leaves on them haha

October 15, 2013

Scar tissue, blood blister…

This morning as I was shaving my pits, as some girls are wont to do, because of the razor I use (Venus something er other that has its own shaving cream built in), I was reminded of something that happened when I was 12…

…when I was 12, we lived in a REALLY small town, called Greenbank, that I think was literally something like 400-500 people. There are only 5 features to Greenbank, that I can think of: a school that goes to grade 6, a pretty nice park, a church, a general store that also acts as the post office and a bakery/chicken coop (that makes amazing garlic cheese bread) that actually sells their own product, not like, an industrial type of thing.  This is all to say that if you lived in Greenbank when you were 12, there was nothing to really do but watch TV, but even that sucked because we were far enough into the boonies that we couldn’t get cable.

So, when I was 12, like the rest of the girls in town, I joined the church choir.

Yes. Me.

But lemme also say that when I say I “joined”, that meant I performed with the choir at our school, but I never sang at church by my own choice.

Anyway, one day I was in the upstairs bathroom brushing my teeth and I spied my dad’s razor sitting on the edge of the sink. Curious, I tried shaving a little bit of my arm hair. Then I felt the newly hairless skin and it was really smooth and suddenly I understood why some women shave their legs; I decided I wanted to shave my legs too.

So, on the floor of our bathroom, I proceeded to do so. DRY. It hurt a little. I bled just a little. But overall I thought it went okay.

I put my dad’s razor back (I highly doubt I rinsed it off) and went to bed. And I experienced freshly shaven legs and nice sheets for the first time in my life and I thought man, shaving your legs is AWESOME, then I went to bed.

The next morning I woke up, got out of bed, threw on t-shirt and a pair of shorts (I highly doubt I ate breakfast) and walked to school.  In June. Where every morning I would come to school a sweaty mess because it was the end of the school year and it was already getting really hot.

The day was totally normal, like any other. We played baseball in gym but because I had asthma I didn’t have to participate so I sat in the grass behind the fencing (cage?) and kept count with J. Fletcher who was in trouble so he wasn’t allowed to play but really wanted to.

And that’s when the itching started. Absent-mindedly,  I began to scratch my legs a little bit, just every now and then. But that only made it itchier and now red bumps were appearing but it was soooooo itchy so I scratched. And kept on scratching until gym class was over.

On the way home from school, the sweat running down my legs because it was 3:30pm and it was hotter than it was in the morning, began to sting the little red bumps. It suuuuuuuuucked.

But I had to go to choir after school, so I did, begrudgingly.

Choir practice was some girls standing and some girls sitting on the step below them with their legs together, bent and to the same side as everyone else. I was a sitter.

I was in agony and during one slow part of choir when the adults were trying to work something out amongst themselves, I had to scratch so I looked around to see if anyone was looking and someone was. This girl whose name I can’t even remember was staring at me which freaked me right out so I looked away and that’s when she whispered to me, “hey! do you shave your legs?” completely bewildered and sort of in awe because none of the other girls had shaven legs.

NO.” I half sneered, half hissed because by now it was clear that I had somehow done it wrong. I stuck my nose up in the air and turned away from her.

It’s funny the little things you remember throughout your day like that. I wish the Venus whatever it’s called with the built in shaving gunk that I use was there for my 12 year old self.

Anyway, I thought it was cute/funny so I thought I’d share.

Posted at 12:09 pm in: Beauty , Childhood , Fall , Feminism , Life , Misc. , the 90's , Women
September 5, 2013

How Not To Be Terrible When Talking About Rape

ARTICLE HERE.

Posted at 1:40 pm in: Current Events , Fall , Feminism , Internet , Sex , Summer , Women
April 8, 2013

Onto Post Three…The GWC!

A few months ago, I read this article by Molly Crabapple about being a nude model for photographers and about the existence of the “GWC”, which stands for “Guy With Camera”. Here’s the article.

There’s this GWC on my Facebook friends list who drives me absolutely insane. He considers himself a professional photographer but has had no formal training and only takes photos of “hot” women. I don’t necessarily think you need to have gone to school for photography to be a professional photographer but if you don’t have any formal training then you have to compensate for that with talent and knowledge, neither of which this guy has shown to have. What he does have though, is access to fucking Lightroom and his overuse of  the adjustment brush and iris enhance features of the program is absolutely criminal. He makes all of his models look plastic, like Barbies; he erases all of their features, making their noses blend into their cheeks and all of his photos are super obviously over-processed. In fact, I would put money on the fact that I’m pretty sure I know the exact book he learned Lightroom from. This one. I know this because I have it too and that’s how I know Lightroom but his technique is so obviously from that book that every time I see one of his pictures I just shake my damn head. A magician should never reveal his tricks, y’know?

But the thing that really chaps my ass is his ARROGANCE. Arrogance is probably my least favourite human trait, especially when there’s no basis for it. If – for example – Sid Crosby wants to be arrogant because he’s really good at hockey, that would be okay-ish because he IS really good at hockey. I still wouldn’t fuck him because I find arrogance a complete turn off, but I wouldn’t be as repulsed by it as I would be if he WASN’T good at hockey. See the distinction?

This GWC on my friends list is so fucking arrogant and his pictures are so goddamn offensive that I’ve had to hide him completely from my newsfeed. Normally I’d defriend someone who bugged me this much but there are reasons at play as to why I can’t in this case.

This GWC even OFFERED to shoot me, like he was doing me a favour and I should be honoured that he thought I’d be a good subject or hot enough to bother with. I politely declined while thinking, “not in this lifetime” because I could only imagine what he would do to my image once he got it in Lightroom and he would totally expect me to post the pictures on my site, link him, and be forever GRATEFUL that he was so generous with his time and talent.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.

I think that as a photographer, you have to make your subjects trust you with their images, that the outtakes will never see the light of day and that they will look like them, or a better version of them, in the final product and I would never trust this guy with my image in a million years. I don’t want to be made into a plastic robotic woman-like creature. Like, if it were something intentional, like photoshopped Barbie-ish leg and arm joints to really look like a doll, that would be okay, that’s a statement, that’s saying something. But this GWC doesn’t have those kinds of photoshop skills; this GWC just knows how to overuse Lightroom to make people look plastic. And obviously so. And he probably thinks his pictures are on par with fashion magazines or makeup ads. They’re not.

Anyway, the guy frustrates me to no end because he gives the rest of us AMATEUR photographers – which he is whether he likes it or not – a bad name. So please, don’t be a GWC. Be a goddamn photographer.

March 23, 2013

God. Preach It Sister.

So you’re tired of hearing about “rape culture”?

Read it. Understand it. Prevent it.

This should also be posted:

The Shortest PSA On How To Handle Drunk Girls Passed Out On Your Couch — EVER

That is all…for now.

Posted at 8:48 am in: Current Events , Feminism , Sex , social networking , Spring , SRS BSNS , videos , Women
March 9, 2013

Under Your Skin

This is a grama update. Skip it if you want, I’ll understand.

My mom e-mailed me on Thursday morning but I’ve got like, fucking mono or something and I’ve been sleeping a LOT so I didn’t actually read the e-mails until Friday morning.

I asked her how sick radiation would make my grama and my mom said she wasn’t sure. She said that radiation causes “extreme fatigue” and that it kills the good cells along with the bad and that’s why people feel like crap while they’re undergoing therapy so that was fact #1. I asked when my grama will start losing her hair and my mom said she wasn’t sure about that either. I asked if it would be rude to bring my grama a nice, black, crocheted hat that I got when my hair was falling out but never wore because it never really suited me and my mom said that would be a nice idea but the problem is, Madison wore it and left it on the floor because she’s a jerk so it got dog hair on it and when I washed it, I put it in the dryer and it messed it up, so so much for that. :o/

My grama’s house doesn’t have a main floor bathroom and she’s not completely mobile so she can’t stay there. The solution was to move her into an apartment in town, so I asked my mom for the address for there and she gave it to me.

The next e-mail was a lot harder to digest because it was just really fucking sad.

My mom and my Aunt Sandra’s husband, John, got my grama moved into the apartment while my Aunt Betty, my grama’s sister, took my grama to Newmarket to see a new oncologist. That’s when they were informed that the cancer had metastasized further into her liver and I know that that’s bad news and my mom hasn’t told me an exact timeframe yet but this new bit of information will likely mean that her life expectancy is a lot shorter than it had been previously based on the information they had at the time.

That’s not what bothered me about the e-mail though. What bothered me about the e-mail was that my grama was scared to go into the apartment, her new home. She and my Aunt Betty sat in the car and waited for the movers to leave and then they waited a little while longer before my grama got her bravery up and made it into her new home. My mom and John had gotten most of the chaos organized, sheets on the bed, towels in the bathroom, the good china out.

My grama’s cousin Sharron showed up with a crock pot full of chili, buns and dessert so they all ate and it was really good that she came. I was relieved when my mom wrote that she had come and sort of helped to diffuse the situation. But still, once everyone left, my grama would be alone in a new place for the first time since Feb. 12th, but more than that, she’d lived in her old house for like, 45+ years and now she’s in this apartment…I just can’t even imagine what that feels like, to be so displaced and facing imminent death.

I’ve had a card sitting on my desk of my “Brown Bee Girl”, which I think is my best painting, and I’d been waiting to find the perfect thing to write in it but I’ve been at a loss. So instead of sending that (well, I probably still will), I sent her a bouquet of flowers with the message “BE BRAVE.” Because I think that’s all you can really say in this situation, or at least that’s all I could think of to say in this situation…this is the bouquet I sent:

I told the flower shop that it would be okay to substitute things if they couldn’t get it exactly right but if there AREN’T sunflowers in it I’m going to be really pissed off, so mom, if you’re reading this and you see it, let me know if there weren’t any. Stouffville Florist is usually pretty good in my experience, but I just have visions of them using black-eyed Susans or something like that instead of sunflowers and that would just piss me off. Sunflowers are kinda my thing

Anyway, it was just really hard to read that e-mail; reading that my furniture delivering, warrior woman grama was scared of something, scared to go into her new home, it just tears me right the fuck up. I can barely even write this post because I’m completely heartbroken.

And I don’t really know what else to say.

My mom just e-mailed me a few minutes ago to tell me that my grama’s property finally sold and the price was pretty sad. I know what it was appraised at and what they got was a fraction of what it should have been but as I’ve explained before, a really really long time ago, my grama’s property backs onto an old dump site, like a garbage dump, and it was never sealed properly so this stuff called “leachate” is leaking onto my grama’s property and that really devalued it. But I guess everyone’s relieved that it’s sold so I guess that’s good. So this is where I grew up. Look at it while you can. The fact that it’s not “ours” anymore hurts my heart because my grama’s property has always been a really special place for me but I guess change is inevitable, right?

So that’s what’s happening right now and no, I am not okay.

March 8, 2013

Disappointing.

I had planned to see this opening week.  Looks like I’ll be downloading this instead of paying 3D prices for a family of 4.

And the second reason was — during the years that I spent running Walt Disney Studios — I learned about how hard it was to find a fairy tale with a good strong male protagonist. You’ve got your Sleeping Beauties, your Cinderellas and your Alices. But a fairy tale with a male protagonist is very hard to come by. But with the origin story of the Wizard of Oz, here was a fairy tale story with a natural male protagonist. Which is why I knew that this was an idea for a movie that was genuinely worth pursuing.

Joe Roth, producer of Oz the Great and Powerful

Posted at 11:05 pm in: Feminism , Money , Movies , Women

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