I feel old. Yes, I did just have a birthday. No, I’m not going to tell you which one.
My knees started making noises. The orthopedist assured me that I’m young for creaky knees; it’s probably an unfortunate combination of too much dancing and volleyball. I feel decrepit anyway.
Even so, it’s not my knees that made me realize I’m old.
It’s my brain. Continue reading The Brilliance of the Teen Brain (#216)
I went to the Women’s March in D.C. last weekend. Me, and 750,000 other people who felt compelled to stand up and say, “Everything you stand for is wrong, Donald Trump, and we will fight you every inch of the way.”
I could have marched in L.A., but I feel it’s too easy for Donald to write off Coastal/ Hollywood elites.
Or maybe I felt a primal desire to get in his front yard and scream. Continue reading You Don’t Get a Goddamned Cookie (#171)
In case you missed it, there was a Women’s March on Washington the day after Donald Trump’s inauguration. (No, I can’t bring myself to call him President. Since facts no longer matter, I guess I don’t have to.) The organizers had a permit for 200,000 anti-Trump protesters.
Over a half-million people showed up, with pink hats and hilarious signs.
I was one of them. Continue reading Marching on Washington (#170)
I’m not a fan of pink. I scorned the traditionally feminine color as a child, insisting that all my clothes had to be blue. This was not easy for my parents, thanks to gendered marketing. Blue dresses were tough, and a girl’s blue bathrobe was downright impossible. They gave me a boy’s blue bathrobe. I loved it.
I wanted a blue winter coat. In the midst of a bitter divorce, struggling financially, my dad didn’t have time to hunt for a blue coat (this was before Amazon). So I wore my blue bathrobe to school. Continue reading Broken Hearts & Pink Hats (#169)
Once upon a time, there was a Junior High School in Washington, D.C. It was a public school. Each student was assigned a home room. Each home room elected a Class President.
The Class President did nothing. Until May.
In May, the school threw a carnival-themed fundraiser. The Class President was responsible for getting a game from the slightly insane (and thoroughly terrifying) Glee Club Teacher. She had a closet that clearly had storage space in another dimension. Continue reading The United States of Junior High (#156)