Today is one of those days that make me proud to be an American. Today love won. On Friday, June 26, 2015, the Supreme Court held true to the Constitution by ensuring that Americans are treated a little more equally.
I hope it’s been made clear that the Bible does not, in fact, define marriage. Love defines marriage. Forgiveness, growth and solidarity define a union between two people, any two people and the Supreme Court of the United States just made that possible nationwide.
There is going to be one hell of a Fourth of July celebration next week because today we were reminded that change is possible and our independence shines a little brighter because of that.
This doesn't happen often and when it does it’s always memorable. This morning, after I got myself out of bed and after having dealt with the horror of realizing I was out of coffee, I begrudgingly sat down at my desk to read the news. This morning I found out that Bruce Jenner had introduced Caitlyn Jenner to the world via the cover of Vanity Fair. This morning I discovered that Caitlyn Jenner is pretty damn fine.
Caitlyn is gorgeous and that’s hard to ignore. After marveling at Jenner’s debut photo for a while, I began to brace myself. I took a deep breath, threw up my Grain of Salt filter and glanced at the comments underneath her story. I was ready to be assaulted by the ignorant assholes of the Internet that lurk in every comment section; I had my guard up. I was prepared to look away the moment I realized I was reading one of their hateful, sad, and pathetic comments. Flinching before I had even read anything, I began to scroll.
The first comment I read was positive, the second, third, fourth, and fifth too. “What the ever-loving fuck is going on right now?!” I thought to myself as I scrolled through tons of positive feedback and well wishes. The Internet I know is full of outspoken and intolerant jackasses. They live for moments like these and they exist only to tear down and mock. I expected them to be out in full force on Caitlyn Jenner’s first day in the public eye, but they weren’t.
As far back as I can remember, Bruce Jenner’s appearance has been an easy target and I suppose I was expecting that same fate to befall this woman who simply got tired of hiding. To my surprise however, that’s not how things played out. Instead, the positive vibes came flooding in and the trolls were swiftly muted. I was wrong, y'all. Caitlyn Jenner is not going to be a laughing stock. What it looks like is that she'll be a trans icon and her legacy started this morning.
To be honest, I haven't been this excited about being wrong since that whole Y2K fiasco. It feels good to be wrong…
…And to be reminded that the world isn’t always this heartless and divisive cesspool we make it out to be in our heads. The Internet surprised me this morning and I liked what I saw. It’s a good look.
Hey, it’s Friday and everything’s cute, fuzzy animals today, but I have a quick question for you. Do you really think Michael Bublé’s standing there sincerely in awe of this beautiful ass (which, yes, is gorgeous)?
Now, if you’re over there nodding your head "yes," I have a follow-up question.
C’mon, indulge me….
If Bublé is for reals standing there, in awe of beauty personified in a single ass, why does he look like he’s trying to stifle a snicker? Look, if you honestly believe that he and his wife (i.e. accomplice/cell-phone photographer) are in fact simply admiring that shapely, ample, and anonymous ass, there is nothing my words can do for you. This website, my blog, none of it will ever be of any use to you, so just go. Now.
For those of you that are still here:
Accept when people are being assholes and learn to work around it. Alternatively, if you’ve got really lofty aspirations, find ways to show others that it’s OK not to laugh along with the mean kids—even when those kids are famous and cool. Being a prick isn't cool, not if you won’t let it be.
What I’m getting at is that everybody cries all week long about wanting a better world and a nicer place to inhabit, but then, when those same people are faced with the options of being a mindless prick that laughs with the right people for the wrong reasons or not laughing at all, they choose to laugh because it’s easier—because it doesn't require thinking. So, if everybody’s laughing, who then is left to build this utopia of happy-fun times we call a “better place?”
Look, most of us like feeling better than other people, it’s what velvet ropes were made for. This alone doesn’t mean we’re horrible people, we’re just human and we want to be valued, more than others because we’re special—WE’RE FUCKING SNOWFLAKES OF AUTONOMOUS GLORY. I get that, what I'm saying is, we don’t have to be dicks about it.
I’ll be real with you. I used to do dumb stuff to make myself feel better than others all the time. I used to go to The People of Walmart site for laughs, I'd make catty comments to my girlfriends about another woman’s poor style choices and I'd laugh at bad jokes meant to skewer an unwitting participant’s outfit on Fashion Police. I did all that and much more because I know all too well what it takes to be mean. But then one day, not too long ago, everything changed.
I was out with my husband and we were having lunch somewhere in Silicon Valley. Much to my delight, we were seated outside. I love outdoor seating because I love people watching and you can do plenty of that while you wait for a meal at a busy restaurant. Not long after we had been seated, I zeroed in on a doozey.
Some woman wearing an outfit that was literally sparkling, was sitting on a nearby bench. If we'd been in the Pacific Northwest, I’d have thought there was a young-adult vampire in my midst, but alas it was just shiny jeans. This woman had all manner of reflective surfaces affixed to her pants and there was so much going on, I didn't know where I was supposed to look. I’m guessing the object was to have people stare at the jeans, because the face was made for radio. I take that back, I don’t really know if it was or wasn't because there was just so. much. makeup. The colors on this woman’s face were so bright and overbearing that I couldn't even make out the shade of her eyes. Her hair was over-processed, fizzed out and unkempt. It, much like the rest of her outfit, was a nonsensical mess.
I was about to make a smart-ass remark about the lack of cohesion in my new friend's ensemble, to my husband, when I overheard another lady's comments. Whoever was seated behind me had thought of a way better zinger and her table was laughing heartily at this prickly observation. I was amused and curious, so after catching what she'd said, I gave it a few beats and turned around slowly to see what she looked like. When I caught a good glimpse of her it all fell into place.
What I saw was an unflatteringly exaggerated, inauthentic, vulgar mess basking in the knowledge of her superiority to Shiny Jeans. Instantly, I felt bad for Shiny Jeans. Almost as quickly, I realized that some chic bitch was likely shaking her head right now at my accessory choices and looking down upon my unimaginative bag/shoe combo. The meta was too much for me to handle on a weekend day and so I flagged down a server with an awkwardly urgent wave and ordered another mimosa only to realize that not only am I a mean girl, but I'm a basic bitch too.
Perspective changes everything and yet, a dick move is—regardless of light-hearted nature and/or intent—still a dick move.
The universe is a mystery and a paradox. Have fun swimming in its contradictions. Happy Friday and see ya on the other side.
Christmas Day is upon us and I’m busy getting ready for my holiday party. Don't worry; I’ll be back Monday with the news, commentary and crazy. For now, enjoy the day with friends and family while I get started cooking this giant bird.
Before you head back to your regularly scheduled holiday, a quick reminder. Don’t forget to:
Look for the best in everything today…
And if you’re working, be sure to celebrate properly in front of colleagues.
If you’re home, do it up real nice….
People are counting on you.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
Image Source: All images via Giphy.com
A woman’s body is not yours to do with as you please.
A woman’s body is her own.
So, kindly back the fuck off with your entitled,
If this is OK:
Then so is this:
Remember what they say about the goose and the gander, y’all.
It’s critical stuff.
Seriously, folks? Really?
Well, don't worry, guys. The world is not ending.
Innocence will not be lost to this plastic, baby penis.
Besides, is it really all that bad for kids to learn proper anatomy?
Life’s a hustle, but that doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole to win.
In the end, the assholes bring us all down.
We’re all assholes in our own way…
So don’t be so hard on yourself.
Enjoy your weekend.
"Today we celebrate our Independence Day," y'all.
Let’s honor our freedom while we contemplate just how awesome it is
when a U.S. senator has the nards to ask the tough questions and,
more importantly, not back down.
OK, now that that’s out of the way, let’s celebrate!
Remember my friend who hates cats?
Well, it’s her birthday today.
Join me in a little song & dance number to celebrate, this, the day of her birth?
OK, Let's do this:
Ready? On three. One...two...Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Supreme Cat Hater
Happy birthday to yooouuu!
Thanks everyone, that was perfect.
I hope you liked my gift.
Love Always, Jane
This morning, while I was washing dishes, making myself a cup of coffee and avoiding work, My friend Isabelle sent me a link. She wanted me to look at a video and I wanted a diversion so I saved the link. Once I finished making my coffee and doing the dishes, I sauntered back over to my office and settled in to watch this welcomed distraction.
I was excited to see that this video was just as funny as my friend had promised it would be. Beyond that, though, it was honest. I was instantly glad she’d shared it with me once it was over. I was also excited to see that I wasn’t the only one freaking out about net neutrality becoming a thing of the past.
You see, I reside here on the internet and I know that net neutrality is critical to keeping the information flowing freely. The problem is, not everyone is aware of that, or if they’re aware, they don't think it affects them. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be father from the truth. Letting the government give the cable companies their way on this, will cause a ripple effect. That ripple will eventually restrict all that we do online and that right there, is some serious shit.
The truth is, us digital freaks can no longer fight this battle alone. We need you regular folks that go outside more often, to help us. The FCC needs to hear from you. If you love your digital freedom, you should let the FCC know.
How to Help:
Step 1 - Watch this video to understand what the fuck I'm talking about.
Step 2 - Let the FCC know you want to save the internet.
In researching the news for the Friday News Links post, I came across something regarding mass extinction. This got me on the Thought Train, which took me to Independence Day, which eventually got me thinking of this scene.
I realized today, after watching that scene, that I’m at my most patriotic during times of national tragedy and whenever I hear that speech. I’m not even sure what that means. What I do know is this:
It doesn’t bode well.
Anyhoo, happy Friday, y’all and remember to take it easy and quit answering work emails.
Today, while I sipped my coffee and waded through the morning news, I noticed this rather comical item:
By 9 A.M. Pacific time, I’d observed that media outlets far and wide were beginning to post about the FBI trying to hire super 1337 hackers. The operative word here is 'trying.' The comedy in this situation comes in the form of an HR nightmare, which makes the news that much more delightful. It seems the one obstacle the feds can’t overcome in this hiring process, is finding anyone elite enough, who isn’t also a stoner.
Don’t you just love poetic justice?
In response to this federal dilemma the Internet exhaled a cloud of smoke and uttered,
“That's what you get. Now, legalize it!”
(At least that's how it went, in my head.)
UPDATED Friday, 23 MAY 2014:
Sometimes the internet does exactly what it is meant to do.
Let yourself go and fall into this majestic descent into infinity.
Note: I realize this is old (i.e a day or two old), but what is age, anyway?
- The Inception Continues As Ryan Gosling Wears A Photo Of Macaulay Culkin Wearing A Photo Of Ryan Gosling Etc. - huffingtonpost.com
It was chilly this morning in Northern California. As a matter of fact, it was so chilly I had to turn on the heat for a little while. That was hours ago, though--at about 7 this morning. Just now, as I came back inside from taking my dog out back to pee, I noticed that it felt warm in the house, but I attributed that to the sweatshirt I was wearing and to the fact that I’d just been outside, in the sun.
It has warmed up considerably this afternoon and I had been outside for a while. I was taking off my sweatshirt when I remembered that I’d turned on the heat, early this morning. Curious, I walked over to the thermostat to see if I'd accidentally left it running. “I wonder if the heat is still on,” I thought as I approached. “The heat is on,” I said to myself as I turned it off, and that's when it happened.
The moment the words, ‘the heat is on,’ left my mouth, I heard the saxophone from this song start up in my head:
I know, it was weird and I felt compelled to sing as much of the song as I could. It confused the dogs terribly. I too was dumbfounded, but for different reasons. I was surprised at how many of the lyrics I had actually managed to remember. I wasn’t even 7 years old when Beverly Hills Cop came out and here I was, thirty years later, singing the shit out of "The Heat is On," in my living room.
It’s pretty strange what manages to stick to one’s memory.
Image Source: Caroline McCredie/Getty Images
I don't wait for Wednesdays to have woman crushes. I have them all the time. For example, if you are a woman and didn't already crush on Emma Stone, you will after watching this video.
- She owned Jimmy Fallon on his stage and did so in sky-scraper-high heels and a cut-out cocktail dress, cause that's how a lady does thangs.
- Additionally, she keeps things real, when it matters--with tact.
So yes, I swoon—all over this woman.
A couple of weeks ago, my friends Lara and Steve came into San Francisco for a little business and pleasure. Wait, that doesn’t sound right; Steve was in town for a work thing and Lara had decided to join him since she’s a writer and can do her work thing from anywhere.
Cristoph, Isabelle and I—who live outside the city—drove in together to meet our friends for dinner. We lucked out and found parking in front of the hotel, but we were unlucky in that I was driving and the parking spot was a parallel job on the left side of the street. I’m actually not bad at parallel parking, but for some reason I can’t parallel on the left side to save my life. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I’m dyslexic, or maybe it’s due to the fact that I have horrible depth perception. Either way, after one attempt I swiftly gave up. My eyes were filled with humiliation when I looked in the rear view mirror and asked Christoph if he’d hop out and park the stupid car for me. Shocked, he obliged and hung his head in shame for me as he saved me from this embarrassing parking peril.
In front of Lara's hotel, I texted her to let her know we'd arrived. Once she came down, we headed out to find Steve. Together, we walked to the bar at which he told Lara he'd be. We were all thinking of grabbing a drink at this place before moving on to a restaurant for dinner, but our plan was abruptly foiled the moment we arrived.
This bar was smaller than it looked from the outside and it felt as if we were reenacting scenes from a crowded subway car, in Tokyo, during rush hour as we stood there chatting awkwardly. Frustrated with the lack of breathing room, it almost seemed as if we'd all simultaneously--and silently--agreed that we wouldn't stay long. Turns out, we were all to old to be standing around like sardines, drinking overpriced drinks and struggling to hear one another speak. Fuck. That. Noise.
Now that we had Steve with us, and he'd had a chance to close out his tab at this tiny joint, we made our way back outside. The restaurant that Lara wanted to go to was nearby, so we started walking. Even though it was a particularly chilly night, we were having a good time roaming the streets in the wind.
I’m not sure what we were talking about when it happened, but I'm pretty sure we were laughing and having a good time when it went down. What I'm damn sure of is that at some point on our walk from the mini bar to the more spacious watering hole, this song popped into my head for the 1,000th time.
“Talk Dirty” has been stuck in my head for some time now. To be honest, I don’t even know where I first heard the song. All I know is that I resented its catchiness the moment the melody first invaded my ear holes. I was initially put off by the tune because I knew this song would inevitably play in my head, on repeat, for months to come. My mind is a lot like the radio in that when it hears a song it likes, it plays it over & over again, until I want to perforate my eardrums with dull, No. 2 pencils.
I must admit that while the song itself is ridiculous and the lyrics are inane, it’s fun as fuck. As a matter of fact, I’m chair dancing to it right now, as I type. Aside from this song playing in my head constantly, there’s one other thing that bugs me about it, and I was glad it occurred to me while I had Lara around to hear out my rationale.
Sometimes, when I bring random stuff up—like my concerns about "Talk Dirty"—to other people, they fail to see the humor and my soul dies a little. It’s very sad really, so I usually keep these musings to myself. Today, however, I had the opportunity to think out loud with a likeminded pal and I wasn’t about to waste it.
“Have you heard that song that goes, 'Been around the world, don’t speak the language, but your booty don’t need explaining?'” I sang-asked Lara. She looked at me, laughed and then nodded vigorously. “OMG," I blurted out, "It’s been stuck in my head for-fucking-ever and that’s the only part I know. I don’t even know the name of the song. All I hear in my head is, ‘been around the world, don’t speak the language, but your booty don’t need explaining,’” over & over again.
That was when I sprang it on Lara—my main concern with this jam. I slowed my pace, as we were still walking briskly to the restaurant. Then, with sincere concern, I said, "I feel like the booty always needs explaining. When you don’t explain, that’s when you get the herp. No one wants the herp, ergo you should always explain the booty.”
Lara pondered for just a moment and then proceeded to do something of a hybrid between nodding her head at me (in ernest agreement) and shaking her head at me (in comedic disbelief). What matters is that she understood where I was coming from and agreed.
So there you have it, my advice this week and forevermore:
The booty always needs explaining because, ultimately, you never know where the booty's been.