Nerd is the word.

A “friend” told me I could get the guys at the Apple Store to fix my phone for free if I wore a low-cut shirt when I went in.


1. I think this #YesAllWomen thing is working, y’all!

2. I hate that I’m half convinced he’s right, and half concerned my cleavage isn’t impressive enough to get me free stuff.

3. I think Apple dudes are above that, though. We’re not talking Lewis and Booger here — I think nerds* are embracing their power a little more now that we all have tiny computers in our pockets. We’re pretty much at their mercy and they know it. Plus, the guys at the Genius Bar could see much more than cleavage on their phones and rub one out in the store’s bathroom during their 15-minute break if shit really got dire — they don’t need ME. So as far as leverage, I think tech support > my tits. (Mine personally. Maybe yours can be exchanged for goods and services, and if so, good on you!)

3. Much as I’d love to tell you I’m totally offended because I’m such a great feminist and I’m better than that and “OMG, THE SISTERHOOD…” If that worked? I’d let it work. Fuck it, I’m broke. I’m not shattering a glass ceiling with a shattered iPhone — “That’s just… the rules of feminism.” They’re gonna look at my boobs no matter what. I’m sure as shit not giving them my money, too, if I don’t have to.

What, you’ve never seen a hypocrite before?

* I use “nerd” in the most loving connotation. Ain’t nothin’ sexier than a man who’ll fix my hard drive and then let me fix his. I’m a nerd hag. The Genius Bar is my meat market.

Aaaand this is why I’m not dating.

So apparently being separated from your “spouse” for over a year does not mean you won’t worry just a little that they’re dead in a ditch when they don’t answer your text for more than 12 hours.

Ahem. OK, NOW y’all can call me unhealthy and codependent.

In my defense, I’d worry about close friends, too, but there’d be less “dead” in my concern. I have not yet followed up or called, so I’m still semi-rational. Tomorrow, though? If you hear reports of massive apeshit coming out of the East Coast? That’s me, sorry.

P.S. I’m also reasonably sure that if anything HAD happened, his family would call me. So that’s tamping down the Crazy.

My moisturizer judges me.

The label on my “nighttime” moisturizer specifies that it “works well under makeup.”

Because clearly my bedmate would be so repulsed by my bare face that I should consider investing in a bedtime color palette? At least a light foundation, Jesus. I can’t let him see…my FACE. Horrors!

Or, a more likely subtext: “We know you’re a half-assed adult and don’t wash your face before bed half the time. So when you invariably screw up and end up using this product in the morning? Neutrogena has your back!”

The Internet is for Porn!

Group text:

Friend 1: “I feel like in the last few years I’m really ‘feeling’ my hormones.”
Friend 2: “I spent the better part of this morning crying. I’m ovulating. I am my hormones’ bitch.”
Me: “I always feel hormonal, too. It’s new, I didn’t used to. It’s fucking irritating. I might have to accept that I’m just insane. To that end, I want low-dose Zoloft in my drinking water.”
Friend 1: “That would be amazing! In the Divergent series, one of the factions basically does that. They put some calming drug in the bread to keep the people calm and happy.”
Me: “They do it in Serenity, too, in the air. Everyone dies, though, so results may vary, I guess.”
Friend 2: “And some become crazy murder machines. I’m still 15 minutes away from finishing Divergent book one. I had to get past my anger at a character death I knew was coming. Internet spoilers. :(”
Friend 1: “Stupid internet. What’s it good for?”
Me: “Porn? Passive aggression? More porn?”
Friend 2: “Time wasting? And yes, SO MUCH PORN.”
Friend 1: “Porn is awesome.”

Getting my wallow on.

I’ve posted this before, but it’s just the perfect morning for it to come up on the iPod shuffle and remind me what’s what. Thanks, Universe.

“How can I deal with this, if he won’t get with this?
Am I gonna heal from this? He won’t admit to it.
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out.
It’s time the truth was out that he don’t give a shit about me.”

Tumbling tumult

Yesterday I started following a Tumblr page called When Women Refuse, full of accounts of violence against women who’ve refused dates, sex, etc.

I also started following The Lady Cheeky, which is a stream of artsy yet porny images and GIFs.

My Tumblr feed is now a very confusing place.

Team Don’t Be an Asshole

About 10 minutes ago, I’d decided against posting this because I don’t like being political. And then I read another story about three more women — allegedly — getting shot at after refusing to sleep with men. So fuck it, let’s do this.

I’m not informed enough to discuss the UCSB event itself. I’ve been avoiding the news because I can’t stand the speculative, argumentative nature of the coverage in these situations.

But I’m glad #YesAllWomen is trending, even if I suspect it’s just a transient bit of slacktivism we’ll all have forgotten about next month.

To be clear, NOT ALL MEN, certainly. I think it’s pretty clear I adore men. And yes, women can also be crazy — I’m the first to tell you I am batshit insane. I’m not even trying to advocate gender equality here. I’m advocating basic decency. I am Team Don’t-Be-an-Asshole.

I am also a big believer in “no means no.” If I want you, you’ll know it. I am not subtle. And I read men the same way — I can tell when you don’t want to be talking to me, even if you don’t say so explicitly, and I leave you alone.

But yes. ALL women have Those Stories.

I went to a bar once with girlfriends, and genuinely worried they’d have to help me beat up the guy who wouldn’t stop touching me and trying to kiss me despite being clearly told “no” and pushed away. I was grateful my friends had my back, and for the female stranger at the next table who came over and asked the guy, “What are you doing? She said ‘no.'”

There was the grody man on the train who opened by telling me I had pretty feet. Even though I simply said “no” at first, he wouldn’t stop asking for my number until I answered “yes” when he asked if was “spoken for.”

There was that time a “friend” took one of my Facebook photos and used it as his profile pic on a porn site.

When I was 14, some guy at the skating rink asked how old I was. When I said 14, he said, “Your body don’t look 14,” and skated away.

I’m glad #YesAllWomen is trending, mostly because I know, if this list is all I can remember, apparently I can count myself among the “lucky” ones.