One Thousand Words

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When Nesko and I had a baby, it solved a very grave problem that we didn’t know existed. Apparently, the one thing the world needed to be a perfect place was for Nesko’s father to have a grandson. And now we have solved this issue, and Nesko’s father is free to dote upon Nikola and adjust the world to Nikola’s preferences.

Part of “making the world an ideal place for Nikola” was an offer to provide us with central air if Nesko would get some quotes for material and labor. See, we live in Chicago. It gets hot and humid in Chicago. So Nesko and I have been talking about the pros and cons of air conditioning.

Pros:

Air Conditioning! My God! You need a list of pros for this?

Cons:

We had central air once before, and have a bad habit of turning it on at the very first almost-warm day and leaving it on until it snows. OH AIR CONDITIONING I LOVE YOU SO.
This leads to a huge energy bill which we can’t really afford.
AC is really bad for the environment.
AC is sometimes helpful because it aids in filtering out tree pollen, which causes allergies, but then the filters and shit clog and my dust allergies are all “FUCK YOU” and my head is all “I WANT TO DIIIIIEEEEEEEE.”
Sooner or later it breaks down and we have no idea how to cope. It’s hot! With no AC! What do we dooooooo?
Did I mention the enormous energy bill? Because seriously.
We’d already been talking about getting rid of the heater and removing the weird, intrusive duct work in the apartment and using the radiators for heat. Installing AC would force our hand, and we’d have no pantry (it currently contains the heater) and intrusive ductwork FOREVER.

We’ve decided to forgo the central air. Apparently the universe heard us and cackled with glee, rubbing its hands together. The abominable heat we’ve had recently? Our fault. Sorry, Midwest.

If you are not from the midwest, let me describe the recent heat to you:

It’s so hot mercury thermometers have exploded, sending sprays of mercury out the shattered glass top of the thermometer tube thing. What’s that you say? Those kind of thermometers don’t really exist? Ok, uh, it’s so hot that electric thermometer displays have ceased working, instead showing comical illustrations of exploded old-fashioned thermometers.

It’s so hot that several people have spontaneously combusted while walking down the street.

It’s so hot that people can’t walk barefoot on pavement without getting literally burned feet.

It’s so hot that part of Lake Shore Drive buckled. Twice.

It’s so hot that we bought ice cube trays after a good five years or so of not having them (we’d been using those plastic things that have fluid in them, and you freeze them and drop them in your glass, and your beverage gets cold but doesn’t get diluted, only they don’t really work that well).

It’s so hot that we’ve been dithering about the central air question after we’d thought we’d made up our minds.

Also, we installed window units in Niko’s bedroom and our bedroom. But we only turn them on when someone’s asleep in the room, or when it’s just too hot to be alive and then I take Niko into his room and I sit on the floor and read a book while he throws blocks into his dirty clothing hamper.

We’re going to install some ceiling fans and see if that helps cool us down. (probably it will.)

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I say I’m not a fan of sports, but really what I mean is that I’m not a fan of how sports is packaged, presented, marketed, and treated in the USA. Anything played by women “doesn’t count” and isn’t REALLY a sport, and all sports fans are male. All of them. Every single one. Women: fuck them!

This was really encapsulated this morning, when I wanted to repeatedly punch the tv.

The World Cup is happening, you see. This is a big Soccer thing. I mean, excuse me, this is a big Men’s Soccer Thing. The Women’s Soccer thing already happened and got no press coverage because, you know, cooties.

So Ana Belaval, who does “around the town” type features, was at a local small bar interviewing male people who were there getting drunk at 8:00am. Something happened on a tv screen behind her and the crowd went nuts and she snapped her head around. “What was that? What happened?”

The male anchor there said: “It was just a yellow card. Don’t worry about it. You wouldn’t understand.” His voice dripped with condescension. I mean she was, after all, a girl. How could she fucking even BEGIN to understand something as complicated as a SPORT? That is MAN TERRITORY. Yes, that’s right, how could a Latina who worked for Univision possibly understand Futball better than a White Male? IT BAFFLES THE IMAGINATION. I’m not trying to say that every Latin@ is obsessed with futball, but considering that it’s been popular in South American way the fuck longer than it has been in the USA, I’m willing to bet that she grew up watching games while Mr Man did not.

You wouldn’t understand.

You’re just a girl.

They then had 3 men read off a list of 7 “rules” that their wives/fiances were expected to follow during the world cup. Basically: don’t walk in front of the tv, don’t change the channel, don’t expect any attention or interest or interaction, keep them drunk and fed, and don’t expect them to go anywhere or do anything unless it involves the Cup.

Classy, dudes!

If any person ever read a list of rules that demanded I crawl on the floor rather than walk in front of the tv (unless I have beer), I would smear that person into a fine paste with my mind, and then leave and never come back. Ever. Because fuck you, that’s why. My role as a human being is not to serve some dude food and keep him drunk and be subservient to a bunch of other dudes kicking a ball on the tv.

Maybe if I weren’t JUST A GIRL I’d have a different opinion about a woman’s place with regards to sports. And maybe if the world of sports wasn’t so constantly, aggressively, hatefully misogynist I’d participate in it.

I am in a HUGE GOD DAMNED FUCK THE PATRIARCHY mood today, I tell you what. Something happened on the train last night that almost made me puke out of rage. RAGE. I should be able to go out in public without becoming so enraged that it shoves all the blood out of the way and fills my veins.

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Here’s the thing:

If you firmly believe that the recent actions in Arizona (requiring proof of citizenship from all dark skinned people or people who look “foreign” or “exotic” or “weird”, requiring a mural showing actual students be repainted to portray all students as white, removing an expensive banner targeting people who don’t speak English as their primary language for the census) are totally cool and good because “mexicans” don’t belong in the USA and do nothing but steal and rape and murder and cause problems and are all here illegally and should be deported?

You’re racst.

If you think that no money should have been sent to Haiti to literally save the lives of people who had no access to food, shelter, clean water, medical attention, etc because they are black and there are people in the USA who are homeless?

You’re racist.

If you think that no money should have been sent to Haiti because OMG what has Haiti ever done for the USA, you’re an idiot, because the impoverished peoples of Haiti still managed to scrap together a sizeable amount of money to donate to US citizens after 911 and after Katrina.

If you think that it’s racism that prevents public fund-raising for donations to clean up the gigantic oil spill that is spewing across Florida, I really don’t know what to say. But no, it’s not because Florida is entirely white and people don’t give money to white folks. No, it’s not because everyone spent all their money on Haiti on those dirty undeserving Black people who live there. How can you possibly be cool with BP, a company that has more money than God, sitting back and letting the public donate money to clean up its mess? Do you really think that Florida is populated entirely by white people? Seriously? That’s your argument? That’s it’s too white to get money?

Moving to an area that once was part of Mexico, and which also had once upon a time a thriving population of Apache, Cocopa, Hopi, Mojave, Navajo, Paiute, Yuma, and other indigenous folks, and then complaining about all the dirty, thieving, raping, low down, no good, non-White people who live there is just… utterly, utterly baffling. And also racist!

If you are constantly bitching about people who aren’t white getting donations/assistance for things (earthquake or tsunami relief, WIC, whatever) but never ever complain about white people getting donations/assistance take a good long look at that. You are being racist. You are revealing your underlying belief that people who aren’t white don’t deserve help, care, consideration, to be treated as human beings and assisted in their time of need. If you think that people who are not white cannot possibly be– and don’t deserve to be– US Citizens, you are being racist. You are revealing your underlying belief that people who aren’t white don’t deserve to live in a country that was founded on the genocide of people who were the first inhabitants and who weren’t white.

Arguing that you aren’t racist when, in fact, you espouse racist beliefs doesn’t really accomplish anything. Well, it makes you look even more ignorant. But it doesn’t change the fact that you are really racist and insulting and hateful.

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There’s a lot of guys who do this thing, in public, that is really aggressive and potentially threatening and invasive and all around douchey, and I’m pretty sure they’re not aware that’s how their actions are perceived, because if they were aware of that they’d stop doing it. Maybe. There’s a lot of aggressive, entitled, douchey guys out there, though.

Anyway, this is the thing:

When you are a dude in public, especially if you are with other dudes in a group, and you happen upon a lady who is minding her own business reading a book or eating an ice cream cone or working or whatever, and you want to know her name, give her yours first. Don’t just demand her name. Especially don’t follow up with questions about where she lives.

Because that? Is threatening. That’s now two pieces of private information you’ve tried to get out of her, and could easily lead to stalking.

And there is a LOT of pressure on women to play nice and answer the question. Because, you know, he’s just being friendly. They’re just questions. What possible harm could it do?

But it’s one of those things that makes women feel unsafe, especially because if she doesn’t answer these (very personal, private, could endanger her life and security) questions, she doesn’t know if the guy asking them will start screaming at her and calling her an uppity bitch.

Maybe you are thinking to yourself “huh, how could simply knowing a woman’s name and neighborhood make her unsafe?” Here is the thing. It’s really easy to watch women, especially in a big city. It’s easy to narrow down where a person lives, what public transit routes they take, including what block they live on, what apartment they live in. It’s easy to get access to women. It’s especially easy when you know that woman’s name. “Oh, hey, I’m here to see [woman's name] and I think her buzzer is broken? could you let me up?”

I mean, think of how normalized-as-romantic this incredibly scary behavior is, how often it’s portrayed in romantic comedies.

So, you know, your harmless questions can actually be very alarming. Especially when the flow of information is only going one way.

So be mindful of that. If you MUST intrude upon a woman’s personal space (like, maybe she’s the most attractive woman in the known universe, or she has a tattoo with an obscure quote on it you recognize, or she’s reading your absolute favorite book series about soul-bonded dragons, and you know in your heart of hearts that you are soul mates), open with your own name first. Get the flow of information going both ways. Make it a conversation and not just an interrogation. And be mindful also of the fact that women don’t owe you anything. They don’t owe you a smile, or a conversation, or answers to your questions. If they don’t want to engage with you, that doesn’t make them bitches or whores or nasty people out to get you. It makes them human beings who don’t have the time, interest, energy, or whatever to expend upon you. And that’s their right, to not interact with some stranger who is making unreasonable demands on them.

Sometimes when a woman is being interrogated by a stranger (who, when male, usually is taller, stronger, louder, and heavier than her, all of which put her at a physical disadvantage), she might try to turn attention away from herself and ask questions of the stranger.

This does not mean the woman is trying to bone you, is giving you permission to “have sex with” (rape) her, is flirting “aggressively” with you, or is, in fact, interested in you/your dick. It also doesn’t mean you can then suavely segue into demanding to know what female celebrities she wants to have sex with, nor does it mean you can loudly call her a prude when she doesn’t answer you right away. I mean, you know, maybe she’s flirting with you and wants to get all up in your business. Sometimes people connect in the most unlikely ways! But it is not probable. More than likely she is trying to get you to talk about yourself (most peoples’ favorite topic of conversation) so she no longer feels like you are stalking her. She’s trying to redirect the conversation in such a way that she no longer has to actively take part in it. She’s reduced to this strategy because most women are not permitted by strange men they meet in public to opt out of conversations the men initiate.

Think about that for a minute.

If you are male, are you routinely dragged into personal conversations by other people? Do they ask you personal questions over and over again, getting louder and more persistent? Do they insult you if you refuse to talk to them or avoid answering the question? If you are reading a book or listening to music via headphones, do people assume that you owe them attention, that they can monopolize your time, that if you don’t fawn over them you are somehow at fault?

Because that’s pretty standard for women who go out in public.

If you feel the need to apologize several times for you/your group and your “obnoxious” behavior then consider changing your behavior. I mean, if you are acting obnoxiously and then apologize for it and then keep acting that way it pretty much cements that fact that you’re an epic jackass with no regard for the feelings of others, and no care at all for how you’re impinging on their social/physical space.

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If you asked me about ten years ago what my favorite genre was, I’d have told you right off the bat, no hesitation, “fantasy.” The truth is, though, I’ve always been hugely into science fiction. Ahh, sci-fi! You had me honestly believing that I’d see actual colonies on other planets, hoping that I’d have the option of being a Bold New Settler– and if not me, then my children. That I’d be able to see my children launching themselves into the unknown, Boldly Going. Books involving The Future (whether bright and shining or dingy and dystopic), aliens, robots, Space, exploration, etc were my bread and butter. I’ve read approximately fifty thousand post-apocolyptic dystopia books (current favorite apocalypse: zombie outbreaks, replacing the nuclear holocaust survivors with awesome mutations genre from the 70s and early 80s).

So why list fantasy as my favorite, instead of sci-fi? I mean, you know, sure… I love magic and fairies and vampires/werewolves/etc as much as the next person who came of age in the 90s and fell in love with White Wolf’s World of Darkness games. Or, possibly, more. So why the falsehood?

Frankly, because science fiction is the realm of boys. It’s a male realm, the books populated with male scientists and male inventors and male adventurers, written primarily by men for male readers, and marketed toward males. Until very very recently, it was assumed that only men enjoy and like sci-fi, and the only female touches are heaving bosoms and slightly parted lips sighing after the hero… or some vampy female who betrays the man but not until they’ve had hot sex. I mean, for crying out loud, the sci-fi channel changed its name to SyFy to attract female viewers. Instead of addressing the content of their shows, their advertising, their staff, they… femmed up the name.

A friend of mine sent me some really good books for my birthday and another one sent me a gift card for amazon.com. So I’ve been reading and enjoying a lot of new stuff lately, but also looking at it a little critically and thinking about my reading habits as a younger person, and how I identify as a reader now, and just how much sexist training and indoctrination I had as a kid about what is and isn’t appropriate for someone who was born with a vagina. It’s kind of depressing.

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The end times are upon us. Seriously.

Nesko has shaved off the goatee and mustache he has been carefully nurturing for years now. I have no idea what the true impetus is for giving it the axe, other than he has a 4 day weekend and so can start growing it back in if he doesn’t like his naked face, and not look like a hobo at work when he goes in that first day. He cited several fairly petty reasons for getting rid of all that facial hair, and in fact, was going to just take off the goatee first and leave the mustache except he looked pretty terrible with a mustache and no chin hairs. So he has barbered his entire face.

He looks weird. Also: hot. You look at the same person every day for over ten years and pretty soon you don’t really LOOK at them. Your brain fills in the blanks. You don’t notice the details. Then they go and do something drastic and shake things up and your eyes and brain LOOK and NOTICE and oh man, he’s so cute. He really is. And hot.

Happy Lincoln’s Birthday, everybody.

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It is, for those if you experiencing winter in the midwest, very very dry.

If you are a normal person, you’ve probably had to deal with dry, scaly skin and nose bleeds.

I had my first nose bleed ever yesterday.

Oh, sure, I’ve had blood in my snot a few times, especially when it was super dry and I had a cold. But yesterday? I made up for a life time sans nosebleed. Blood ran in a river for, honest to God, an hour. You know how I usually exaggerate stuff for effect, comedic or otherwise?

I am not exaggerating.

A friend of mine who’s suffered such extensive, frequent nosebleeds that she wound up getting her nasal vessels cauterized, talked me through it– the nose pinching, the head tilt, the waiting. My hand cramped up from holding my nose shut. My eyes watered, and my lips dried out from breathing through my mouth. It was kind of like a nasal period, complete with giant black slug-like blood clots.

Let me tell you, internets, it was awful.

Especially because, once I stopped actual blood streaming, there was still both a faint trickle, a bit of a runny nose, and a gigantic fear of dislodging the blood clot. Yesterday was Christmas according to the Eastern Orthodox calendar, so we went to Nesko’s family’s house for dinner, and I was all paranoid that I’d 1) start bleeding again 2) people would notice I was being nasty by sucking up snots instead of blowing my nose.

We got some cash presents, which we are going to use to get humidifiers, one for each bedroom. I cannot imagine dealing with a nose bleeding baby, and would like to head that trauma off at the pass.

Feel free to tell your blood horror stories, nose blood or otherwise, in the comments.

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Last year I only made one resolution, which was to act with less fear and try more new things. Yes, those two are very closely intertwined. I’ve been doing a generally good job at this, but need to remember to keep doing so.

• Treat each Monday as a chance to start over
• Act out of fear less, try new things
• Write at least 100 words a day of fiction
• Update the Baby Blog more frequently
• Update blog more frequently
• Keep in better personal contact with friends
• Finish “12 Days of Christmas” project by early October
• Draw more often– “real” drawings, not doodles
• Bake more bread
• Eat more pie

Do you have any resolutions for this year? Do you make resolutions or no? Do you feel bad if you don’t keep resolutions? Do you feel extra good if you do keep them?

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We hosted Christmas Dinner this year, the first time we’ve REALLY hosted a holiday meal. We’ve participated in pot luck in the past (including one year I made a turkey and it was the best tasting turkey IN THE ENTIRE WORLD and I’d never made a turkey before), and one year we half-assed it to the point of not bothering to check to see how long a spiral sliced ham needed to cook and wound up pan frying slices of ham for everyone’s dinner.

This year we made lasagna, cauliflower gratin, mashed potatoes, peas, 2 kinds of rolls, and a spiral sliced ham (well, the ham only needed to be heated up; it was already cooked). All of this, except for the ham, was made from scratch.

There was also cheese and crackers, pumpkin-cranberry muffins, and 4 types of cookies, as well as sugared almonds and spiced mixed nuts. The muffins, cookies, and nuts were also made from scratch.

This was a lot of cooking. I have a 9 month old who needs to be within touching distance of me at all times. I did a lot of prep cooking while he napped or was in bed.

Whew!

Nesko has never personally had to work to host a holiday meal. In the past, we either went to my parents’ or else his family hosted, which is to say that he sat around and drank and talked while Teh Wimmens busted their asses cleaning and cooking. Which meant that Nesko kept fluttering around the kitchen on Christmas early afternoon waving his hands and exclaiming that Christmas “was ruined.”

It was hilarious. And of course nothing was ruined.

The ham and lasagna went in then came out and were covered in foil to stay warm, and the cauliflower and potatoes went in. The peas were microwaved. The rolls were cooked the day before (but I should have heated them up in the oven but I was afraid they’d dry out or something).

Oh! There was also devilled eggs and fudge that didn’t set right (and I need to make a cake so I can melt that fudge down and turn it into frosting).

Next Christmas we are going to make appetizers, cookies, and pie. And if people want actual food we can have sandwiches or something. But people were very interested in the appetizers and were kind of full when the main meal came out. Sure, we could just skip appetizers, but they are MUCH easier to throw together than a meal is.

When we finally have a million billion dollars, we’re going to remodel our kitchen and put in two ovens to make life easier.

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I love vampires so hard, guys. I really do. I’ve been really into vampire literature since I was 11 or 12 (before that it was werewolves), so on the surface books like Twilight seem like a perfect match, right? It’s Vampires! And they interact with the world! But there’s this “older, more physically and socially powerful man grooming/stalking/courting a younger, less powerful woman” theme that I hate. I’ve always hated it, and it is RIFE in YA lit, in fact pretty much all literature, aimed at women.

Most of the women I know have been sexually assaulted, molested, and/or raped. While some of the perpetrators were the same age or younger, or were female, most of them were older men who spent time grooming them, stalking them, and manipulating them. I don’t know if the women I hang out with are unusually unlucky, if broken people attract each other, or if they just talk about shitty stuff that’s happened to them more than other women do. The Powerful Older, More Experienced Man trope may be sexually thrilling in fiction, but in real life it’s freaky as fuck; and it’s something that’s touched my life both directly and indirectly. When I was 17 I was sexually assaulted at work by coworker with seniority, who had laid down a ground work of intimidation and silencing action ahead of time. Two of my girlfriends, both under the age of 18, had been raped– one by a boyfriend, and one by somebody she grew up calling “uncle.” The boyfriend’s stalking ended after a year of threats; the uncle encouraged the second girl to tell because “nobody would believe her anyway.” Both young women had powerful, assertive men roll up in their lives, treat them specially, “watch them sleep” as it were, and then fuck their shit up.

It’s a fantasy I can’t get behind. I’ve seen it play out in real life, and it’s pretty twisted. A guy who’s interested in you and climbs a tree to peek into your bedroom generally isn’t checking to make sure you’re safe. In real life, he’s likely to send you a photo of your room with a note saying he knows where you sleep at night. It’s a threat. He can get you at any time.

You aren’t safe.

It isn’t very sexy.