Hey just bathroom selfie-ing at The Smith

Last night I was packing up to fly back home (and was upgraded AGAIN on the way back, btw, which either means that I am a freaking genius capable of hacking the algorithm, on the receiving end of some bizarrely coincidental good karma, or Beyonce), when I realized that I haven't really explained what I was doing in New York.


One Year Later: Still Angry, Still There

A year ago today, when we marched in Los Angeles, the size of the crowd floored me: thousands and thousands more people than were expected showed up, and the march spilled out into what felt like the entire city. As exciting as it was, I remember thinking that it - meaning all that energy and rage - wouldn't last. We'd promise ourselves not to start feeling like this presidency was normal...but then, inevitably, "normal" would become exactly how it'd feel.

This year we decided to stay put and march in San Jose alongside our neighbors. I expected to see a few hundred people; maybe a thousand.

The march spilled out into what felt like the entire city. Nobody went anywhere, and they certainly didn't shrug their shoulders and go back to their couches. I think the part that really got me - beyond the man holding a sign saying that he was there for his granddaughters - was just how many kids there were. I am so excited to see what all those children marching alongside their parents, in strollers and on shoulders, hoisting signs that they'd clearly made themselves, will grow up to do one day. I'm pretty sure they're going to be the ones saving us.


The Many Lives Of Lucy

If cats have nine lives, Lucy basically has nine cats. (Kendrick gave this joke a B. Whatever, I think it's funny.). To explain, allow me to briefly enumerate for you the situations in which my twelve-year-old, eight-pound teacup shih tzu has eluded death:

  1. A brief period of ownership by a person who was willing to "lend" her six-week-old puppy to an acquaintance (me) so she could go to London, and who then decided not to return. Ever.
  2. An incident where she escaped from my house and hid under my car, resulting in an escaping eyeball.
  3. A second incident a week later where I came home from work and her excitement upped her blood pressure to the point where the eyeball escaped once again. (That was the end of the eyeball.)
  4. A tick situation that y0u can read about here, if you want (omg).
  5. A nighttime stroll through our coyote-filled neighborhood that ended with a stay in our local shelter.
  6. The discovery of a tennis-ball-sized lump on her neck that I was certain was a death sentence, but turned out to be no big deal (it was an abscess, which is categorically horrifying, but treatable).
  7. A two-week period during which she walked into walls and spun in circles with her head stuck at a permanent 45-degree angle. This HAD to be bad. Like, really bad. And yet? It turned out - again - to be "no big deal," according to our vet. (It's called "old dog disease." Really.)
  8. A leg that broke for no apparent reason and that rejected three different casts (they literally just fell off). But then it just got better anyway. On its own.

And now?

Now Lucy has cured herself of blindness.


Not Here For This Shit Anymore

I started being treated like an idiot in the seventh grade. I'd transferred out of a school where I was so nerdy and ostracized that a pair of "popular" twin boys took to leaving death threats on my parents' answering machine, and entered a school located all the way across town, where nobody had any idea who I was. I had a blank slate. Over the summer before I entered my new school, my bangs grew out, I shot up a couple of inches, the beginnings of breasts appeared, and I started to emerge from that tragic awkwardness that plagues middle-schoolers of the large-toothed sort.

Boys noticed. I noticed them noticing. I loved it.

I also spent a lot of time observing my new environment, and specifically the girls who seemed like they had a handle on it all; like they were important. I noticed that it wasn't cool to be smart, or to do well on tests, and so I started lying. I moaned over my grades when I was actually getting solid As; I asked for homework help that I didn't need; I giggled and pretended not to know what James was getting at when he and his friends came over to me in the cafeteria and he handed me a banana and told me they wanted to see me eat it.

I ate it.