I run a mac lab, a lab full of Apple computers, and yet I am in no way, shape or form, a mac lover.

I am pleased as punch that because my lab is full of macs, my job rarely requires me to do any OS trouble shooting. But I have a PC at home and that ain’t ever gonna change.

I hate alot of Apple products. I think Itunes blows giant chunks. I don’t want it coming anywhere near my giant MP3 collection and turning files that will play on almost anything into files that only work on it’s stupid program. I use Winamp instead. It’s easy, doesn’t require me to convert everything into a library before it will play it. I just right click on my PC and enqueue into playlist.

I don’t own an Ipod. I have an Archos Gmini that I love love love. I just drag and drop files into it’s music folder and tada- they play. It holds a charge for damn near forever (I think I last charged it for a few hours a week or so ago, maybe) and I can make playlists super quick on the device without sacrificing precious file space for a giant stupid program (hello Itunes- I’m talking to you!)

And now, proof that Apple isn’t the shiny alternative to PC’s that Mac freaks like to claim it is. The Iphone- that shiny piece of overpriced plastic that geeks lined up for (dumbasses) has been hacked to work on any GSM network. So Apple issues a software update for the phone that effectively kills all the phones that have been hacked.And this is all after Apple had to give 100 bucks back in credit to the early Iphone buyers to make up for the price dropping by 200 bucks just after its release-but that $100 credit can’t be used at the Itunes store- you want content for your shiny new phone- you’re gonna have to pay cash just like everybody else.

Nice. Makes me want to kick the dark haired geek boy from the “Hi I’m a Mac” commercials. But mostly it makes me feel really superior to those bright eyed Mac fanatics. Suckers.

UPDATE: Could I use the word shiny any more? Seriously, may be time for me to buy a fucking thesaurus.

I don’t remember ever seeing Clinton get pissed off like this when he was prez. I feel a little flushed watching that. I think I may need a cold shower or a cold drink (righteous anger directed towards hypocrites and cowards does that to me)

I got knocked on my ass by some evil flu bug. I am just chock full o’ snot. Nice huh. I haven’t had a bug like this since I was a perpetually dieting teenager. As a much younger version of myself, I lived on salads and water and 4 (yes 4) hours of exercise everyday.

And I got sick alot. I had bronchitis all the time and walking pneumonia a few times. I was always hacking up a lung. I came to know the difference between a cold and being really sick with bronchitis – it tastes different. And right now I taste like bronchitis.

So I went to hall my sorry ass down to the drugstore. It’s less than half a mile. A short walk that I make everyday. But I could barely get out the door. Thank god for my neighbor, she pulled in just as I was walking out and drove me.

So I had to buy something with suddafed in it. Not just regular suddafed though cause suddafed all by itself will actually turn post nasal drip into something more bronchial. I needed a suddafed/ guifinasen (I don’t know how to spell that- it’s what Robitussin is made of)combo.

Pre- scary meth days, this was an easy task. Go to drugstore- peruse cold isle. Buy medicine. Now I had to spend 20 minutes getting my id checked, signing my life away on a broken computer pad and arguing with the overworked pharmacist when he tried to sell me the name brand version that was $13 more than the generic.

All while running a fever. Nice.

Do we really think that locking suddafed up behind pharmacy counters is stopping meth from being made? No. We’re just making sick people grumpy.

That is all I got for now.

Deek: White people are so fucking racist!

Me: Fucking boys! Oh my god could they be any worse?

Both of us- talking over each other: Did you hear about the Jena6? What about the girl that was kept in a trailer and raped? She’s going to jail for bouncing checks!

You know you are a trusted advocate when someone from an oppressed group (in case you hadn’t noticed- Deek’s a big black guy with fab locks and I have ovaries)feels comfortable enough with you to bitch about things your group has done to oppress them.

If they feel comfortable enough to talk in front of you then they usually aren’t talking about you. If you get the squidgy feeling in the pit of your stomach that they might be talking about you- then examine yourself and your actions before you get defensive. In other words- shut up, listen, think about it- in that order.

So I am taking macroeconomics for the THIRD time this quarter. No I have never failed this class. The only class I ever failed was typing/intro to computers a million years ago and now I type about 60 wpm and tutor people in … Intro to computers. Maybe I should fail a language course so that 10 years from now I can be an interperter.

I am taking macroeconomics (again) because I keep having to drop the damn course because the ONLY professor who teaches it is such a misogynistic asswipe that I feel like I’ve run the gauntlet at Tailhook every time I leave his class.

Let’s see, in the first 15 minutes of class today we heard a joke about a dumb blonde who couldn’t do math and that women are secretly making more money than men. (Who knew? That whole 75 cents on the dollar things is a big freakin lie)

Seriously.

I know that part of my education means learning to sit through and get through classes with jerks. I’m usually pretty damn good about finding subtle ways of of changing right wing proffs opinions through my writing (Hello Dr. L! Thanks for using my papers to lecture from and for the kick ass recommendations you write). But this guy- he is not someone whose opinion can be influenced by a mere student, let alone a student with a set of ovaries (ovaries of steel mind you, but ovaries none the less).

So, what’s a girl to do when I have to get through this class (required for my major) but I feel like I need a shower and a machine gun every time I leave it?

someone accuses me of being an irrational woman- I am so pulling out these quiz results.

(I couldn’t help but choose the rocket launcher answer even if the rational part of my brain was screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)

The housing bubble bursts.

Totally predictable- the puppet heads on TV don’t blame reckless lending practices or the lovely shell game of packaging mortgages so they look lower risk than they actually are, they blame poor people.

Poor people who want to own their own home. Poor people who are doing what they have been told to do all their lives. Work hard, save money, invest in a house because it’s the safest, most useful place you can put your money. People who are following the American Dream line that has been force fed to us all. But it’s those damn poor people who can’t qualify for traditional mortgages that are responsible for the current mess.

Fuck that. If Alan Fucking-I love Ayn Rand- Magic Fixer of the Economy- Greenspan could not predict this bubble bursting- then neither could all those people who don’t have fancy degrees in economics or haven’t spent their entire careers analyzing how money works.

Though I will say this- all those talking puppet heads on TV may finally make it really clear to the rest of us that the American Dream of the white picket fence was never intended for everybody but it was intended to make us work our asses off and not blame the power elite when all that work doesn’t pay off.

Than again, maybe we’ll be too busy watching the latest edition of Dancing with the Stars to care.

Meh.

So my birthday isn’t for another 6 months, but I love planning a trip almost as much as I love taking one. SO I have 6 months of happy, joyful planning ahead of me! Yippee!

I have been to France before, but not Paris. (I know – how does one go to France and skip Paris? I went to the French Riviera- that’s how).

I plan on parking my ass in the Louvre for a few days with a sketchbook unless the Louvre is cool and let’s you take no-flash photos. Anyone know their photo policy? Any other must-see museums? (I know there are many- I’m looking for recommendations).

I am also wondering which neighborhood is best to stay in. I like being able to walk everywhere. In Rome I stayed in the Piazza Repubblica which ended up being easy walking distance to everything but the Vatican. I’d love to find a spot like that in Paris.

Suggestions, fun travel stories, etc. are always welcome.

The Red Queen sandwiched between her friends Amanda Panda and Ms. J. For the record, nearly every picture of Ms. J and me has her making smoochy lips at me.

I’ve been musing over the nature of compliments versus harassment lately. The two lovely ladies with me in the photo above have given me some insight based on incidents that have happened over the course of several drunken pub crawls in Belltown. We came to the conclusion last night (after drinking many red stripes and coming up with the new name of a coffee drink shot full of vanilla stoli and goldschlager- the stolengolencofffee!) that it is a matter of payment.

Lemme splain. A few weeks ago we were at the same bar when we were followed, harassed and pestered by this one guy. He took turns “complimenting” each of us, trying to see which one of us had self esteem so low that we would trade a few comments about our looks with the removal of our panties. Some of his words were just obvious BS about how important he was. You know, typical drunken cock swagger and a bunch of big fat lies about where he was from – South Africa, Jamaica, Ethiopia, he was a US Marine in Iraq, he was from New York. Blah blah blah.

Now let me get to the line that cemented the difference for me between a real compliment and creepiness- “You’re beautiful”. (Pauses for many moments to figure out how to write the next bit without sounding like a super conceited piece of shit………)

I get told this alot. I am not, by any means, conventionally attractive. I am a big, curvy girl. I look nothing like what beautiful is “supposed” to look like. Yet, on a fairly regular basis random strangers will tell me I am beautiful. Sometimes it is a genuine compliment and I take it as such with a thank you, but the guy at the bar was not doing that.

What the guy at the bar was doing was almost the reverse version of a neg- pick a girl whom you assume does not get a lot of compliments and try to buy her favor. I’ve been trying to figure out specifically for weeks what the difference is between a creep and not-a-creep and how it is that we know the difference without being able to explain it beyond “he was creepy”. I think it lies in whether the compliment is genuinely given or whether it is given with the expectation of payment.

More examples, cause I like them. Women can give these kinds of compliments all the time to each other. Last night I told the girl sitting at the table next to us that she had the most beautiful curly hair. Ms. J oohed and awwed over another woman’s fabulous boots. I did not expect anything from the girl with the gorgeous hair, I just wanted to tell her I thought it was awesome. Ms. J did want to check out the woman’s boots, but only if the other woman wanted to show them off. There was no expectation that since Ms. J had given her a compliment the woman then had to hand over her leg so that Ms. J could get what she wanted. Ms. J did ask if she could touch them (they were this very tactile looking patchwork that could have been leather or fabric) and the woman let her. Had the woman said no, Ms. J would not have felt like she had paid out a compliment for no gain.

One more example. In a cab on the way to work the other day I struck up a lovely conversation with the driver. I live in a neighborhood with a large number of Ethiopian immigrants (yay- this means I also have many yummy Ethiopian restaurants within walking distance) and a lot of the cab drivers are Ethiopian. The driver and I were talking about kids and marriage. He’s 40ish, married late in life according to his culture, and has 2 kids. He was shocked that I was only 32 and had a 12 year old and wasn’t married (more shocked by my age than by the not married part I think). Then he broke out with the “You are a beautiful girl” but not as a cheesy come on. Actually he was very explicit that he was not trying to pick me up. He was merely trying to explain that if I was as beautiful at 20 as I am now that some of the Kid’s dad’s idiocy might be explained by raging hormones (there’s only a slightly different argument to be made that a beautiful girl is the reason a boy acts like an ass- but that’s for another time). Anyways, his compliment was nice and part of the conversation without being a payment for some future favor.

So there it is. 2 guys. Nearly identical words. Neither of them do I have any romantic interest in. It really comes down to the basic feminist idea of ownership of ones own body. The creep assumed that he could buy control over my body by paying me compliments on my looks. The cab driver just gave me a compliment. The creep assumes that women’s control over their own bodies is something that can be sold away (and if it can be sold it can also be stolen). I know none of this is really groundbreaking news, but it does help to clarify why behavior that seems exactly the same has radically different results in the way we feel about it.

Last weekend I went as the faux-lesbian date of a friend to a wedding. I do the faux-lesbian wedding thing more often than you think. I’m a riot at a party and for some reason women are under the mistaken opinion that attending a formal social function put on by people that are not strangers by yourself is the hight of shame. Wev. I’m just there for the free booze.

So the wedding last Saturday was the big production deal that most people associate with a bridezilla personality. Except- it wasn’t at all what the bride wanted. The bride, a very low key, funny girl, wanted to elope to Hawaii. It was the groom that wanted the production. The bride didn’t get the wedding she wanted, but she loves the guy. She didn’t get the dress she wanted, but she loves the guy. She didn’t get much of anything that she wanted, but you get the idea.

As soon as the big production vows were over, the in laws started asking about kids. The bride joked about how maybe she wouldn’t be working for long- she’d just spit out a few kids and stay at home. Funny thing is, she doesn’t want kids. At all. She wants horses instead.

I also spent alot of quality time with the bride’s new sister-in-laws. All of them have several children and a strained quality to them. One of them, whose oldest daughter is the same age as the Kid, and I were having a good talk about parenting. It was one of those moments where the cracks in the shiny mommy veneer show and you can say that sometimes you don’t like being a mom very much or that sometimes you’re not as good to your kids as you should be. I prefer those talks to the “greatest thing I’ve done with my life” talks because we all know that is what we’re programmed to say.

Whenever I have these conversations with married moms (or even a lot of child-free people) it goes the same way.

Other Person: Wow, you have a 12 year old! You must have been really young.
Me: I had him a week before my 20th birthday.
OP: Is his dad involved?
Me: No, we were engaged until I found out I was pregnant. I decided I wanted the baby but not the marriage.
OP: That must be so tough to do it on your own.
Me: Not really, I prefer being the only one in charge. I don’t share authority well. (Let me clarify this remark- parenting is hard, but it is easier for me to do it on my own than to play nurse-mommy-maid-whore to a grown up boy while being mommy to a child).

So my conversation with the sister in law went almost word for word the same way, except when I mentioned not marrying Kid’s dad. She was awed for a second, and said “That’s amazing that you knew at that age not to get married”. Now, I must admit that I knew she’s been having marriage problems before I met her (people tell me shit) so it was a little telling in the kinds of questions she asked me that she’s been considering divorce. I was honest. And we were both pretty open about how hard having kids is to begin with. (Pre-teens and teens are rough phases for kids that will try the best parent’s patience- dirty secret is that though we love our children more than you can imagine, we don’t really like them much for awhile).

So imagine my surprise when 2 minutes later the bride asks if having kids is hard and the same woman says “You don’t even notice it”.

You.Don’t.Even. Notice. It. WTF!

My head was about to explode. Why do we feel the need to lie to people about the joys of parenthood? Trust me, you notice it.

When you haven’t slept in six months and your nipples are constantly sore- you notice it.

When yet another diaper has exploded with toxic poop all over your last clean shirt- you notice it.

When you’ve nearly lost your mind because you pre-schooler WILL NOT PUT ON HIS SHOES and you’re late for work (again)- you notice it.

When you’re sitting in another parent- teacher conference in a tiny chair with the full knowledge that an imbecile is teaching your child nothing and you will have to make up the difference for 6 hours every night – you notice it.

When you’ve repeated the phrase “Do your homework” so many times that you can’t remember if you can say anything else- you notice it.

Parenting is hard work. It’s drudgery most days. And you notice every minute of it. You shouldn’t be a parent unless you absolutely want to. And we shouldn’t keep lying to women about how joyful it is. It has it’s moments, but