Friday, August 30, 2013

Real Women

Wise words from Hanne Blank:

"Excuse me while I throw this down, I’m old and cranky and tired of hearing the idiocy repeated by people who ought to know better. 
Real women do not have curves.   Real women do not look like just one thing.
Real women have curves, and not.   They are tall, and not.  They are brown-skinned, and olive-skinned, and not.  They have small breasts, and big ones, and no breasts whatsoever.
Real women start their lives as baby girls.  And as baby boys.  And as babies of indeterminate biological sex whose bodies terrify their doctors and families into making all kinds of very sudden decisions.
Real women have big hands and small hands and long elegant fingers and short stubby fingers and manicures and broken nails with dirt under them.
Real women have armpit hair and leg hair and pubic hair and facial hair and chest hair and sexy moustaches and full, luxuriant beards.  Real women have none of these things, spontaneously or as the result of intentional change.  Real women are bald as eggs, by chance and by choice and by chemo.  Real women have hair so long they can sit on it.  Real women wear wigs and weaves and extensions and kufi and do-rags and hairnets and hijab and headscarves and hats and yarmulkes and textured rubber swim caps with the plastic flowers on the sides.
Real women wear high heels and skirts.  Or not.
Real women are feminine and smell good and they are masculine and smell good and they are androgynous and smell good, except when they don’t smell so good, but that can be changed if desired because real women change stuff when they want to.
Real women have ovaries.  Unless they don’t, and sometimes they don’t because they were born that way and sometimes they don’t because they had to have their ovaries removed.  Real women have uteruses, unless they don’t, see above.  Real women have vaginas and clitorises and XX sex chromosomes and high estrogen levels, they ovulate and menstruate and can get pregnant and have babies. Except sometimes not, for a rather spectacular array of reasons both spontaneous and induced.
Real women are fat.  And thin.  And both, and neither, and otherwise.  Doesn’t make them any less real.
There is a phrase I wish I could engrave upon the hearts of every single person, everywhere in the world, and it is this sentence which comes from the genius lips of the grand and eloquent Mr. Glenn Marla:
There is no wrong way to have a body.

I’m going to say it again because it’s important: There is no wrong way to have a body.
And if your moral compass points in any way, shape, or form to equality, you need to get this through your thick skull and stop with the “real women are like such-and-so” crap.
You are not the authority on what “real” human beings are, and who qualifies as “real” and on what basis.  All human beings are real.
Yes, I know you’re tired of feeling disenfranchised.  It is a tiresome and loathsome thing to be and to feel.  But the tit-for-tat disenfranchisement of others is not going to solve that problem.  Solidarity has to start somewhere and it might as well be with you and me."

Thursday, August 29, 2013

E-mail Between Lovers

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Rock the Casbah by Myself

I woke up this morning with an awkward medley of Rock the Casbah and All By Myself stuck in my head. A hilarious creation of my nocturnal subconscious and lingering evidence that something weird went down in dreamland last night.

I've always had incredibly vivid and strange dreams, but these days they escape my memory minutes after I've opened my eyes. This makes me sad because I love the amused look on Jean's face when I tell him the latest.

As I was walking to the office this morning, I saw a man in a suit on his knees in the mall, picking up a dozen Timbits in different flavours scattered all over the ground, the empty Tim Hortons box he'd dropped lying on it's side not too far away. It's really insignificant on the scale of bad things that can happen to someone, but it damn near made me cry. I'm such a sucker for these kinds of "sad" situations, I don't know why the hell I'm such a jellyfish for this type of thing, but I always have been and forever will be.

Monday, August 19, 2013

It's nice to have a garden...

... and a boyfriend with a green thumb.


One thing I never learned about as a silly city girl is the art of gardening, and the wonder of having fresh vegetables and herbs at your disposable. At the beginning of the summer, we planted three varieties of tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, onions, beets, parsnips, and a whole array of fresh herbs (among other things), and we're finally starting to enjoy the fruits of our (his) labour.

As a descendant of farmers on both sides of the family, I guess it's pretty sad that it takes me tremendous effort to keep even the most low-maintenance house plants alive. But such is life.

Dinner was a freebie tonight... we just chopped up some tomatoes and herbs we picked from the garden, tossed them with linguine and gobbled it down with a dollop of ricotta. 


It was. SO. GOOD.

I mean, it makes me kind of mad. Because when I go to the grocery store to pick up these types of ingredients, I end up with watery tasteless tomatoes and herbs packaged in so much plastic. Would you believe that I never even really knew what a real tomato tasted like? That I actually thought that I didn't like tomatoes? The flavour in the stuff picked from the garden is nothing at all like what you buy, unless you go to a farmer's market - which I do sometimes, but I don't live close enough to do it regularly. Even the taste of our arugula is incomparable. I pulled a leaf off the plant and it had such a strong peppery flavour that it almost burned my tongue. In a good way, of course...

I have so many plans for the other things we have growing. SO. MANY. PLANS.

Can't wait for those beets to be ready.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

This.

This.

This is how I feel right now.

I'm not super elated or excited. I'm not bursting at the seams. I'm just...


My job has been getting me down in the last few months, but I won't write about it here because I'm terrified of the powers that be that will strike me down if I do. My company has an internet policy that reads like a novel, and I'm forced to accept it every time I open my browser at work.

So I'll avoid that topic for now (and perhaps forever) and instead say that I did two 30km rides this week on my bike, and a few shorter ones, and in the last two weeks since I've started riding my bike more often, I've been feeling really:


Thursday, August 1, 2013

July in Instagram Photos