Now, Now, Don't Give Up. We're Not Here Just to Entertain.

In honor of International Women's Day, here are three much loved songs by some of my favorite women musicians:

Time to Bring Out the Tongue Whip.

When I was 20 my boyfriend at the time asked me what I wanted him to get me from the liquor store. I told him, "whatever."

He brought me back peppermint schnapps.

At the time I was pissed, so to spite him I drank the whole bottle and of course ended up puking (which wasn't a big deal because the peppermint masked any odor.)

Even though the guy was a major ass there was a lesson to be learned.

Know what you want and don't be afraid to ask for it.

Sometimes I forget. And I think many feminists do because we are so often silenced.

It's funny because one of the main themes of any feminist class is to "speak," and I'm sure it's because we're told over and over again, politely or otherwise that no one really wants to hear it. That they "know" already. That they're "tired" of it. That they "get it."

But let me put it quite frankly: if you know, if you are tired of hearing it, if you get it, then you wouldn't ask someone else to shut up about it. You'd be speaking up too.

Because that's what "getting it" is all about. Not just understanding it, but working to change the problems, being vocal when something sexist or racist or just plain ignorant happens.

Yes it's tiring. But I'd rather get tired today than have to deal with it tomorrow and the next day and the next.

If what I want is for it to stop, I'm not going to shrug my shoulders and say, "whatever," I'm going to ask for it to stop; because if I don't, if I'm indifferent, I could end up with something worse than peppermint schnapps.

I'm Rich. Like a Hot Noise.

I've always been poor. But only when it comes to finances. I've never been hungry-starving in need of food. I've never felt I was missing out on what the other kids had--cool clothes, fun activities, etc. My parents, hard-working working class have given me luxuries many children never receive--such as the ability to find the best bargains, the appreciation of materials, and respect for hard work and dedication (amongst other things).

Without their hard work I never would have worked so hard myself--though my work has been mainly in academia and I only have three pieces of paper and looming debt to prove it.

Yet I wonder, as a poor person, will my hard work will ever amount to anything?

I can work and work and work and yet I'll still have debt.

And everything I want to do career-wise doesn't really pay. Writer. Artist. Non-for-profit.

So what am I doing?

Am I just stuck?

Are we all stuck wherever we land? Because let's be honest, the boot-strap mentality is a dream; a myth created to make us think we can pull ourselves up. They make movies about it because it's a rarity. Because it's what we're supposed to believe to keep ourselves going. To keep us poor people from rioting, from actually doing more than just complaining about it.

It's the dream that one day we to can be be like the rich, "if only." What a great tactic! I mean, what better way to keep all of the poor, working-class, middle-class people running the country while the rich laugh at us and use us like dolls, puppets, worker bees.

People with the best ideas on how to change the world are the people who need it to change the most. But, these people have no avenue to actually see the change through. (Because why would the people in power want our world to be any different?)

Everything I want to do costs money. Lots and lots of money. And no matter how hard I work I will never get that much money--unless something miraculous happens like I invent the next silly bands or my grandma wins the lottery and hooks me up.

So I have to beg.

Rich people! Rich people! Will you invest in my ideas, will you allow me to do what I want, will you be my savior, my one and true god?

It's disgusting. Rich people disgust me. And of course I am envious of them because they can do whatever they want. Yet I hate them because what they choose to do sucks. They have no creativity. They rely on us poor artists to be their souls. And that is bullshit.

But we're so "lucky" to have their support because without them what would we be doing? Rolling around in the mud? Rubbing one out into customers' double soy macchiatos? Bending over backwards so they can stick it in while we act like we like it?

Wait.

What?

Isn't it great that we've been told year after year that we can "do whatever we want" be "whoever we want to be."

That idea is only true if somebody else buys it.

And poor people can't afford to buy other poor people's work. And that is why the rich stay in power and the poor's rich ideas on transformation are rarely, if ever felt.

It's D.I. Y. or Die.

Thank You Coconut Milk.

Lately I've been hardcore craving a fudge bar. Being a vegan (or mostly vegan) I thought this was going to be a craving never satisfied. But I found these:

(I tried to flip the picture but it wouldn't work)

Coconut milk fudge bars! Yay! They're dairy-free and soy-free. And they taste pretty good even though there's that wood-stick taste like with any fudge bar. But doesn't that make it more authentic anyway? I was pretty excited, though slightly disappointed that they were MINI. Why do they have to be mini? What vegan couldn't really handle a whole one? We eat fruits and veges all day. Give be a big bar of coconut milk chocolatey goodness. Seriously.

The brand has a bunch of different frozen desserts, yogurts, milk and creamers.

The world is changing. And for the better!

Beer: Good or Evil in Disguise?

When I was in sixth grade I became a witch. Not like a real Wiccan witch but like a witch from my favorite movie at the time, The Craft. I was not the only one who loved this movie, so me and a few friends became "witches" together. (I was the north witch in case you were curious.)

One night at one of my witch friend's houses, three of us were in her bedroom playing with supernatural forces. We had over-used the ouiji board and didn't really have enough people for "light as a feather, stiff as a board" (i'm sure there's an actual name for that).

Anyhoo, we closed all the doors and windows and lit two candles that were sitting on the floor. The black candle represented evil, and of course, the white candle was good.

And the battle of Good v. Evil was decided on the flame of a wick.

If Evil won, the devil would/could take our souls.

If good won, then we'd believe in god. Or something.

So the three of us sat up on my friend's bed watching the flames. All the lights were off so the candles were trancing and illuminated shadows in the wall.

None of us moved for what felt like hours.

Then out of nowhere the white candle went out. We all were shocked. We looked at each other in horror. We squirmed and moved in closer to each other. Suddenly we heard a growl, it sounded like the devil cackling. Never in my life had I been so afraid. I screamed my one and only truly terrified scream--this was nowhere near the same sound they make in horror movies. This was from deep within, I could feel the tremble of the high-pitch shake my brain. I thought I was going to become a demon or be brought down to hell or become the devil's puppet human. I still haven't figured out how my friend's parents didn't hear it or care to check on us. But they didn't.

The three of us were speechless. One held a stuffed bear tight to her chest. After about ten minutes of nothing happening my friend was no longer as scared; she dropped the stuffed bear on the bed, throwing it upside down in the process. The bear made a sound. We all looked at each other. My friend picked it back up and tipped it upside down again. The bear growled. The sound was just like the devil laughing.

We all started nervously laughing too. It was the bear all along. Nothing mystical, supernatural, or evil was going to happen. It was just a candle and a bunch of silly wanna-be witches playing with ideas that were bigger than them.

But ever so often, I wonder. Mainly when I wake up with a hangover, like I did today. Is the devil torturing me? Had he stolen my soul back in 1996? Have I just been a vessel for pure evil ever since? My ex-boyfriends probably think so. But how would one know--if we consider the devil as not necessarily a red colored man with horns, but the aura of wickedness--how would one be able to determine whether the air of evil entered them, or marked them in some way?

It's sort of silly. But sometimes I question what we were messing with and why we were doing it.

On a non-hungover day I generally feel that all humans have both the "lightness" and "darkness" in them--that we're genuinely good people but when pushed in the wrong direction we turn rotten.

It's about balance. Which makes me wonder--if beer makes me feel so lovely one night but like complete crap the next--is it a creation of "goodness" or evil disguised as deliciousness? And if I had actually gone down the path of witchcraft could I cast a spell that prevents hangovers?

Because that would save me a lot of pain; if I could I would totally consider taking another gander at the Wiccan ways. (Though not drinking so much could be an easier solution.)

Humane Slaughter? Sounds Like an Oxymoron.

The other night I watched the movie, Temple Grandin, which is about her life with autism, school, and cows, basically.

She actually lives and works up the road in Fort Collins, at CSU, which I thought was a fun fact considering I had never heard about her until I saw the movie.

She only eats yogurt and jello, yet she loves cows.

She says, "If we're going to eat them we should do it respectably." Because we can.

Which I believe is one of the biggest complaints coming from vegetarians and vegans, like myself.

Of course, most vegetarian/vegans do not believe in the killing of animals at all, but personally if it's going to happen it should happen as compassionately as possible.

I almost wrote humane--but the root of that is human--and I don't think humans really treat each other or other creatures all that well. Which is why it often takes someone who can look at the world in a unique way to find methods to actually improve it.

Yes, it's probably going to take a long time for people to stop slaughtering cows (and other animals) but through education, empathy, and energy to create change it's possible.

In the meantime people who do eat meat should consider (well, stopping ha!) but also making sure that the living creatures who died to be on their plates died in as respectable a manner as possible.

(Just like veges should make sure their fruits and such are grown and picked in a respectable manner.)

Because we're all connected on this little tiny planet called Earth and I believe we should treat each other accordingly.

To the best of our individual abilities.

Progress not perfection.

Also, if you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend it!

Here's the actual Temple Grandin (Not Claire Danes).

Killing You Softly, With This Smile.

I've decided that I would like to smile more often. And on my own free will.

What has kept me from smiling in the past has not been mere unhappiness but from other people telling me that I should.

For example, every serving job I had my bosses would come up to me and say, "Smile!" "Customers want to see you Smile!" "If you don't start smiling you can leave early."etc.

Which would have been fine and dandy except never once did I see one of my bosses go up to one of the guys who was working with me and say the same thing. Why? Because guys don't have to smile when they're serving. Customers will already tip them well because they feel sorry that a man has to take such a lowly job and of course he wouldn't/shouldn't/couldn't be happy about it.

But as a woman I'm supposed to exude warmth. I'm supposed to make you think that I care about making your eating experience extravagant.

Please. Nobody deserves to have to have those kinds of jobs. Which is why everyone should have to do it at least a year out of their life--like the Israel Army except more passive aggressive than aggressive.

Anyhoo, the service industry has prevented me from smiling because I don't want to do what others say, particularly when it is condescending and misogynist. Duh.

But I don't serve anymore. I am no longer your service provider. My years of servitude are over.

And so, now, I feel like it may be a good time to start smiling again. Though I don't really have the face for it. Or the teeth.

The pissy-aggressive-scary-attitude face has worked wonders for me over the years. But I'm getting older and I'm losing that spark that makes people more fascinated than intimidated.

Now most people just think I'm a bitch. Which is probably true to some degree.

But, I'm really not that pissy.

Well, only when I go out in public.

So when I'm at home I am going to attempt to smile more often. And perhaps when I go out in public people won't piss me off as much.

I can just Smile! Because it makes me feel better. Because the sun is shining. Because the birds are chirping. Because I'm not serving anymore. Because life is pretty alright most of the time.

My particular life--the world though, the world could use a good make-over. But I shouldn't take the world's problems out on myself. I didn't cause all of this. What right do I have to be angry about it ALL of the time. It does me and everyone around me no good.

Kill them with kindness--the old cliche goes--I wonder if they'd literally die. . . hmmm I'll have to try it sometime. The last thing they'll see before they keel over--my smiling face shining down on them.

Yes. I'm totally going to start smiling more.