Me Before You

Me-Before-You-book-cover-Jan-12-p122JoJo Moyes’ novel Me Before You was a romantic drama that at the very least actually did shock me a little bit. Parts of it were melodramatic and unbelievable—such as the main character, Louisa, never having used a computer/the Internet in 2012—but overall I guess it was fine to read. I definitely didn’t hate it, but I don’t feel like it’s going to be a novel that I remember for the rest of my life either.

To sum it up, Louisa lives in a very small town outside of London working at a cafe that gets shut down. After a few brief stints in positions that didn’t work for her, she finally got a job working as a caregiver for a quadriplegic man. And from there, you just know they’re going to fall in love. My eyes may have gotten stuck in a permanently unflattering position from all the rolling they did.

So Louisa falls in love with the sarcastic, douchey, ex-big shot lawyer that she’s caring for, Will, and I think (???) he fell in love with her as well. It was hard to see the relationship working since he was paralyzed below the waist with movement only in one arm, and when he pointed this out to her, she could only respond with a feeble, “But I love you, we’ll make it work.”

Anyway so one day at work, Louisa overhears a conversation where she discovers that the entire reason she was hired was with the hopes that within six months time she’d change Will’s mind about wanting to commit suicide at a Swiss facility that provides consented suicides. This family puts a helluva lot of trust into the hands of a girl who has only ever worked in a cafe and has no life goals to speak of, but like no pressure.

Maybe I don’t understand her family dynamic because I don’t have a sister, but it seemed like every single person hated Louisa. Her sister, dad, and boyfriend were all constantly making fun of her for the way she dressed, how she styled her hair, how her body shape wasn’t ideal, and how she was generally unmotivated and dense. Her entire fictional existence made me exceedingly sad as she went through her day to day motions not pursuing anything while everyone made fun of her. But, of course, she’s alleviated from her own depressing existence by the heroic, strong-willed male character, as women in novels and movies often are. This particular case really struck a chord with me because it all seemed so exaggerated: Will was a very rich and successful businessman while Louisa worked at a small cafe in a small town and lived with her poor parents at age 27 with no dreams or goals to speak of. Yet they fall in love because she’s chatty and bubbly and wears quirky clothing. However, and here’s the only part that did shock me, it was enough love for him to reconsider killing himself. I honestly would have been really pissed off if he decided to live just to be with her. The biggest kicker is that after he kills himself, he leaves a TON of money behind for her so she can pursue college (which she only applied to because he essentially told her to) and move out to live by herself. So even though he isn’t there, he hopes to have some stake in her future and the direction it ebbs into, as if he deserves credit for what happens to her life even though he decided he doesn’t want to be in it anymore.

I’m just so sick of stories where a woman finds self-worth and newly discovered confidence solely due to the influences of a new man in her life. This novel just happened to take it to a bit more of an extreme where this girl was extra pathetic and this guy was extra amazing so she can have extra great life now. I have a headache from rolling my damn eyes.

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Not Forgetting


An edited post I wrote on 9/11 four years ago.

Originally posted on I Think I'm Funny:

I’m not always the most supportive of America’s system of government, mostly because greed and corruption disgust me and that’s what our country is run by. And there are times when I get so frustrated that I want to pick up and move to Italy on a whim. But I don’t think any of that warrants fostering any negativity towards 9/11 and what it has come to stand for. It’s one of those dates that everyone will remember exactly where they were, what they were doing, and what they were thinking. (I was in 7th grade history with Mrs. Kane watching the planes hit the towers because we accidentally turned on TV. My class joked and made sarcastic noises, thinking it was a clip of a video game or something. Then our principal told us to turn off the TVs and computers and we were stuck in ignorance for the rest…

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Discrimination in the Form of Kim Davis

kimdavisEvery now and then a craze sweeps through current events and grabs my attention, leading me to become obsessed. I research everything surrounding the topic: what happened before, during, and what’s projected to happen after it passes over. My most recent news-related addiction was with Rachel Dolezal, but now I’ve become fixated on the bigoted Kentucky clerk that is refusing marriage licenses to gay (and straight) couples, Kim Davis.

When it comes down to it, it’s hard for me to process exactly what has Kim Davis so upset. She’s been married four times herself, cheated on her partners, and only became religious within the last four years. The hypocrisy is glaringly apparent to anyone who’s read more than a paragraph about her past, however, being “born again” has absolved her of any sins. Aside from that though, the way she acts is just disrespectful—there’s no rationale behind her actions that quite explains why she thinks gay marriage is so wrong. And I guess this is true for many highly religious folks, but it’s hard for me to grasp when I really try to think about it. Despite being raised Catholic, I never actually read the Bible in its entirety so I’m possibly missing something, but in all the religion classes I went to until I was confirmed, I don’t ever recall someone telling me that gay marriage or a gay lifestyle was wrong. The central point seemed to focus around “be nice to everyone and that makes you a good person,” but somehow that’s become so skewed in any religious societies and has turned into “be exactly like me and I’ll be nice to you and we’ll be good people together” instead.

From what I hear, there is never anything in the Bible that defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman, yet it’s constantly sited in vague references. How is it that our society has gotten to a place where we can blatantly discriminate against a certain lifestyle with thinly veiled excuses that aren’t ever properly explained? This is what blows my mind the most—we’re literally pitted against one another on the side of being kind and open to all or being closed off to anyone who is different. It’s always such a cyclical journey in this country with racism and homophobia, and as much as I want to believe that things are getting better as time goes on, Kim Davis and her supporters make me feel disheartened.

I was excited to hear that after Davis was put into jail to be held in contempt of court, her Kentucky office started issuing Screen Shot 2015-09-04 at 10.16.55 PMmarriage licenses again. It’s confounding that a woman can be paid for so long to not do her job after being told time and time again that she must do this simple task. It’s not like anyone was asking her to officiate gay marriages. Due to the fact that she was an elected official, she could only resign or be impeached, which I don’t think is fair at all either. Elected official or not, if someone is being paid to disregard the law and the responsibilities of their job, then they should lose said job. Seems simple enough, especially since any other career is subject to this. The worst part about her being jailed is that now she’s going to be seen as some type of martyr for her actions, a christ-like figure persecuted for doing god’s work.

So much of our country is rooted in the belief of “separation of church and state,” yet extreme right wing politicians tote their religious beliefs and get more votes for it all the time. The political debate was riddled with references to Christianity and the Bible. But what if they were Jewish—or god forbid, Muslim—and had done the same in a political sphere? The media would jump on their back immediately and they’d be ostracized. It’s more like a separation of synagogue/mosque/any house of worship aside from churches…and state.

In the end, it shouldn’t matter if your religion tells you that it’s wrong to abort a fetus or that two people of the same sex shouldn’t marry. All that matters is that we’re nice to everyone and you’re a good person. Treat people how you expect to be treated: The Golden Rule that’s become buried under loads of self-righteousness.

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To Kill a Mockingbird

rooftop-to-kill-a-mockingbirdAs many of you know, Harper Lee’s manuscript Go Set a Watchman has recently been published. This book is the sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird, and from what I read, it was lost for many years and just…found. As a huge fan of Lee’s first novel, this news caught my attention. Naturally I had to reread To Kill a Mockingbird before I read its sequel, though. Plus the library hold list for Go Set a Watchman is actually ridiculous, and I probably won’t even see the book for another three months.

There isn’t much to say about To Kill a Mockingbird that most people don’t already know after dissecting it to pieces in any high school English class. Personally I love this book and think it’s a fascinating look into 1930s southern life, something that I’m obsessed with mostly due to the fact I’ve never been to the South. Scout and Jem’s childhoods remind me a lot of my own, and I relate so much to the education-obsessed yet tomboyish Scout. I was surrounded by boys so I wore jeans, hated dresses and combing my hair, and preferred playing in the mud to playing house. But once I set out for school, I became addicted to learning and reading. On the other hand though, this novel is also a solid reminder of how freaking happy I am to have been born in this time period because I would NOT be able to deal with all the rules, specifically for young girls. I also can’t not talk back to save my life, so I probably would’ve gotten shipped to the North anyway because I would have fit in better there and the South wouldn’t have known what to do with me. Which, incidentally, is exactly what happens with Scout in the latest novel as she hightails it the heck out of Alabama and straight to good ol’ New York.

I’ve heard disconcerting rumors of this new novel, which center mostly around Atticus changing from parent of the year to an old racist bastard. People are seriously heartbroken over this character development—probably not more than the couple that changed their child’s name, though. Yeah, let that sink in for a minute. Anyway, aside from dramatic parents and a sorta childhood hero being ruined, I’m still eager to read the book. I also want to know everything about how a manuscript just goes missing for so many years and suddenly turns up again perfectly ready to be published. My life has felt a little boring lately and some sort of book-fueled drama is the perfect thing to cling to.

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The Girl on the Train

91lUeBR2G1LPaula Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train has been raved about recently, and was so popular that I had to wait over two months to get my copy from the library. The teasing description of the book promised the tale of a woman who gets caught up in the life she created for two people, “Jess” and “Jack,” that she observed on her commute into London every day. What the description failed to say was that it was the story of three desperate women who work toward the ultimate goal of having a baby and pleasing their men, which ends up being the same singular male (apparently god’s gift to women in this small suburban town).

The main narrator, Rachel (aka our girl on the train), is an unemployed drunk who takes fun in riding the train every single fucking day to keep up appearances of having a job to her roommate. Because somehow after getting fired she has the funds to pay her rent and various bills as well as afford alcohol multiple times every day AS WELL AS these pointless daily round trip train tickets. Maybe Rachel can recommend me for her old job because it seems like it must’ve paid a helluva lot more than my job does. Aside from her love for trains, Rachel enjoys stalking her ex-husband, Tom, who cheated on her with a blonde real estate agent, Anna, who then went on to also cheated on Anna with his blonde and probably younger and thinner neighbor, Megan. Megan aka “Jess” aka the girl that Rachel watched every day from the comfort of her free train rides and imagined a life for.

Now isn’t that a mouthful?

Here’s the biggest kicker, though. Tom isn’t who all these women thought he was! Anna is somehow shocked when she finds out that the husband she met through an affair is cheating on her, and they’re both even more shocked to learn that he’s a psychopathic liar.

This book was so cringy and annoying to read, and so much of it reminded me of the dreaded Hausfrau. I couldn’t relate to a single thing that any of the characters did because they all acted idiotically and their thoughts/actions were extremely exaggerated. At one point, the “evil villain” Tom (I’m going to refer to him as that because he seems like a comically exaggerated evil villain) sits down and explains his dastardly plan and all his intentions behind his evil acts. I really thought that in 2015 we were past that sort of crap.

I wish I threw this book in the Gowanus Canal when it flooded last week. The best thing I can say about this book was that it was a quick, easy read so I didn’t have to suffer through it for a long time. Lately I feel like I’ve been reading a lot of horrible books, so I’m hoping the next book I venture into is better than these have been.

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House of Leaves

71Vmj-9DZYLMark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves is one of those books that I’ve tried multiple times to read but never completed. I always knew I’d come back to finish what I started because I really hate not finishing books, though, and now I can finally say I’ve finished this one.

A friend recommended this book to me probably around 2007 and I tried and tried and tried to get into it, but when I was 18, it just read as pretentious drivel. Now that I’m older, I definitely had more of an appreciation for all the hard work and effort that went into the creation of this novel. But I also think that Danielewski is a bit pretentious still, especially because I’m sure he went into the creation of the book with the intention of making a cult classic. I also don’t think it was necessary to have so many stylistic tendencies, like having his words spiral or reducing word count page by page until there’s just one word on a page. Turning a 600+ page book upside down to read four sentences every other page while standing on the subway at 9 a.m. is enough to make anyone want to throw the book between the gap.

House of Leaves has a serious cult following behind it where obsessed fans have an ongoing forum that they still post it almost 20 years after the book’s publication. Some of these more than dedicated fans have even created the fake cited sources Zampano refers to in the book. Yep. It’s THAT kind of book.

In a 600+ page novel, you want to be gripping the pages anxious to see what happens next. With House of Leaves, that was often not the case. A lot of the book drags on and on with deep mythological explanations of where an Echo came from and “removed” (aka red crossed out passages) about Minotaurs that, while interesting, could definitely have been shortened. It’s almost too obvious that Danielewski wants people to take a metaphor away from these passages.

The novel is narrated by Zampano, the old man who created this in-depth analysis of a movie that he also made up, and is full of fake sources, fake definitions, and tons of other falsities where you don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. Sure, it’s metaphorical as fuck, but after page 250 of intense metaphors that you can’t quite put your finger on, most normal readers resort to heavily skimming and sighs of frustration.

The other narrator is Johnny Truant, the sex and drug addicted son of a mother who spiraled into violent psychosis after she tried to murder (and possibly succeeded, according to one fan theory I read) in murdering her son because she didn’t want him to suffer through how horrible the world is. I mean, I guess that’s one way of dealing with how much life sucks. As Johnny becomes immersed in this world that Zampano created, he begins to have trouble differentiating reality from dreams from paranoias, a theme that runs rampant throughout the book: What exactly is real? What exactly is going on?????

My disdain for Johnny is practically unrivaled; I haven’t hated a character in a book since reading the abomination that was Blackbirds. The parts where Johnny was writing, I was overcome with rage at this fictional character because his rantings often revolved around who he was fucking, how many drugs/drinks he had that night, and the CRRAAZZZYYYY antics that Lude was up to. What’s that Lude gonna do next!?

One theory that I read and really liked was, as I mentioned before, that Johnny’s mother actually did kill him and House of Leaves/the writings of Johnny are all this elaborate story that she created and wrote. She loved writing her son letters as we knew but also suffered from some sort of psychosis (schizophrenia? bipolar? something else indicating that she was delusional?), and possibly the contents of this book are the ramblings of a disillusioned woman. For example, Lude’s and Thumper’s names are characters of what they’re known for (lewd behavior and…thumping), which can be evidence of a person that’s unable to create anything more than a flat, two-dimensional character whose actions are indicated by their names. Anyway, it’s not necessarily a good theory but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

Regardless, I did actually like this book for the most part. After four years as an English major, I find a lot of enjoyment from book/movie analyses, even if they are fake, and took a lot away from it. I didn’t care for drunken, drug-induced, unreliable ramblings because those got old pretty fast. No one in the book club aside from me (I WIN!) finished the book, so I would one day like to actually talk to someone who read it in its entirety because I think there would be a lot of interesting things to discuss. For now, I’m basically just talking to myself about it.

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Nicole the Nuisance

My fourth grade field trip companion.

My fourth grade field trip companion.

A few weeks ago, I was telling my boyfriend about all the crap I did as a kid, and I realized two very important things. I was a horrible little ball of energized annoyance, and these stories are actually kind of hilarious.

So here’s one of my better tales involving an annoying child and a fire alarm. It’s short, but it’s also super cringeworthy and makes me hate myself a little bit. Enjoy…?

In fourth grade I came to the important realization that being annoying is adorable so therefore I should be the biggest pain in the ass because adults will love me and find me endearing. And what more could I really want at age nine? I forget where this came from, but I also think I concluded that being dirty and gross was really cute, too. Memories are burned in my mind of me standing in front of the bathroom mirror and messing up my bangs before returning to class only to be stared at like the grimy little gremlin I was. I didn’t mind that they stared—in fact, I reveled in it. I loved the attention and I loved getting it by being the dirty, weird kid. Being unpopular was my goal in elementary school, but that’s probably a different story for a different blog post/therapy session.

Fourth grade was the epitome of my “bad” days, to the point that I was under teacher supervision during every field trip. This came to be early on in the year after I drew a picture of a mean substitute and wrote “The Bitchy Witchy,” which of course the poor substitute found and delivered to my teacher. My 26 year old self aches for this sad old woman who was just trying to do her job, while nine year old Nicole sits in the corner maniacally laughing.

This story takes place at the planetarium, which is probably one of the coolest places for a nine year old to visit. We were standing in line to get into the theater and I was bored. Maybe I had ADD, or maybe I was nine and easily distracted. But whatever the reasoning, I walked over to the fire alarm and set off the alarm.

Now let me just clarify something. This wasn’t a situation where I schemed and planned to ruin everyone’s afternoon. I was never one of those kids that wanted to pull the fire alarm, and I frankly can’t pull a prank to save my life. I was bored and the idea of opening a little box that I saw everyday at school but never desired to touch suddenly became important. No, necessary. I had NO IDEA that just opening that clear plastic case would set the alarm off, though. I wasn’t even bad enough to purposely do this.

People shouted and started hurrying around, and I distinctly remember the panic in my teacher’s eyes. She looked around trying to pinpoint her student’s locations and not lose her job, only to see Nicole the nuisance standing next to the fire alarm looking guilty and terrified. She laughed. She. Laughed.

I still maintain that this teacher adored grubby little ol’ me and wanted me in her group because she liked me so much, and this situation is my biggest piece of evidence. Even when she was telling me that I was disgusting or annoying, she always did it with a smile. When I think about it now, it’s definitely a weird, negative relationship to have with a teacher, but it made for a fun school year at the very least and a slew of insecurities that I’m dealing with in my adulthood at the very most. BUT I DIGRESS…

From what I remember, no firefighters came to the location and I don’t think we even evacuated the planetarium. Soon after the chaos was resolved and someone closed the fire alarm case, we got to watch our starry show. As soon as the lights dimmed, I took out my Snoopy flashlight (the one I brought on all my field trips, along with all the other toys that I made sure to bring on any class outings). My teacher tsked, leaned in close to me, and whispered, “That’s cute, where’d you get that?”

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Love is Love

36778I’ve always wanted to experience an event that would undoubtedly be remembered as a piece of history, and today finally brought that. Today—June 26th, 2015—is the day that the U.S. Supreme Court legalized gay marriage nationwide.

I can barely even find words to express how happy it all makes me, and my eyes have been welling up with tears all day. Tears for my friends who are finally allotted the same basic rights that I’ve always had; tears for the couples who have been through hell and back just to be treated as an equal; and tears for those who aren’t here to see this amazing moment in history, but fought their hardest to make this possible.

We’re all living a moment that’ll be in future history books, and that’s beyond amazing. I’m so happy to be alive to see this day finally come, and this is a moment when I can truly say that I’m proud as hell to be an American. And I can’t wait to see what Sunday’s Pride Parade is going to be like.

<3 <3 LOVE IS LOVE <3 <3

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Race and Rachel

idiotI think I need acknowledge something that’s been happening because I’ve mostly tried to stay silent, but I’m sick of it. I want to talk about race.

As many of you know, I’m proud as hell to be half Puerto Rican. And those of you who know this also know that I do not look anything other than white white white. I’ve never experienced any of the many, MANY struggles that come with being dark skinned or a minority. And I’ve also felt that I don’t really have much of say in anything that’s been happening in the media lately as a middle class white girl from the suburbs. The recent surge of video evidence of excessive police brutality toward blacks is horrific, and it breaks my heart to think of how much must have gone by undetected before camera phones existed.

However, now this Rachel Dolezal shitstorm kicked up and I’m pissed off all over again. And this time I don’t really want to stay quiet.

There are so many things wrong with what Dolezal did, but the thing that’s most alarming to me is how many people are so quick to defend her actions. It’s truly commendable that she did great things for the Spokane NAACP branch. That’s great, and there’s good to be found in every negative situation. Because regardless of her accomplishments, everything she did could have been achieved as a white woman. There was never a need for her to start darkening her skin and wearing weaves, but she did it anyway so that she could play the role and use it to her advantage.

Her interview with the Today Show was confounding. Dolezal contradicts herself multiple times while skirting the questions and avoids giving any substantial answers. Here’s what I took away from it:

  • Dolezal doesn’t put on blackface for a performance. Since her reasons are practical and professional, then it’s acceptable for her to not “stay out of the sun.” Maybe she should trade in her bronzer for some sunscreen.
  • She also mentions that for people to believe that she’s Isaiah’s mother, she can’t look like a white woman. It just wouldn’t be “plausible.”
  • Albert Wilkerson is her dad. Not her father, her dad. Because people can be dads but not fathers. Even though the person she was speaking with meant her biological father and she knew that, but let’s just move on.
  • It was totally okay for her to sue her predominately black graduate school (Howard University) as a white woman because they hurt her feelings.
  • The color crayon you use to color in your skin as a child determines your race. So I personally learned from this interview that I must be related to Skeeter Valentine because I’m pretty sure I always drew myself with blue skin.

Am I insane, or is this interview absolute horseshit? So much of it makes NO sense. I was shocked that Matt Lauer didn’t persist or push his points, but I guess with such a hot topic they want to see how long they can drag it out and exploit it for more airtime.

Just a quick sidebar: I’m just going to say now that the term “transracial” is fucking aggravating to hear. Race and gender are ENTIRELY different, and there’s no way that the “struggle” Dolezal has gone through is in any way comparable to that of a transgender person. If I see one more person likening Dolezal to Caitlyn Jenner, I’m going to throw a chair.

Rachel Dolezal wanted to be a martyr, and rather than do so in her own skin, she changed herself and took on the physical appearances of a black woman. She made a mockery of an entire race and belittled the struggle that millions went through and continue to experience. She lied about being on the receiving end of hate crimes and even told her family to not “blow her cover.” This is probably the most extreme example of white privilege I’ve ever seen: A white woman that shifts her race when it’s most convenient and beneficial to her needs, and she somehow has people supporting her through it.

Now there’s even more coming out with the exclusive NBC interview where she finally just says that she’s black and can’t identify as white. She’s black because she raised black children and felt a connection to the culture and knows black people and has curled hair and tanned skin. Because apparently that’s all it takes to be black. Rachel Dolezal is just a self-centered woman who wants to be remembered at whatever cost it takes, changing her story as it conveniences her.

This New York Times piece is well articulated and points out exactly why this whole sham is so ridiculous as well. As for me, I’m waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and let the country know that we just got severely Punk’D because there’s really no other acceptable end to this story.

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Bad Feminist

badfeministI loved this book. I loved this book. I needed this book.

Here’s a little secret you may not know about me. I LOVE WORDS. Weird, right? And Bad Feminist was full of words and phrases that I wish I could high five and befriend. There were times while I was reading that I burst out laughing and others where I shook my head as I held back tears. There aren’t enough words to express how much I appreciate a writer that can make me emote, and Roxane Gay is a prime example of one. She was also able to articulate so many thought-provoking assertions in such an eloquent way, leaving me utterly impressed by her talent, skill, and brutal honesty. The thoughts that she expressed are ones that I’ve had before, but was unable to find such a composed way of conveying.

There is now a huge, not-so-secret part of me that wants Gay to recognize me on Twitter and somehow become my new best friend. I want to sit with her and roll my eyes at terrible movies and just vent about what’s bugging me lately in the world. I identified with so much of what she thinks and has experienced, and when I couldn’t personally relate, she still made it coherent and accessible.

Every woman has a series of episodes about her twenties, her girlhood, and how she came out of it. Rarely are those episodes so neatly encapsulated as an episode of, say, Friends, or a romantic comedy about boy meeting girl.

I can’t express how reassuring it is to hear someone complain about how difficult and stressful their 20s were, for instance. I had NO IDEA what I was getting into once I graduated college. My parents and all my aunts and uncles met in high school, got married in their early 20s, then moved into houses with mortgages by my age now. Not only is that absurd, but that’s unrealistic—not that I knew that growing up, though. This was the example I had to grow up alongside, so imagine my anxiety when life wasn’t that easy come the end of my educational career.

After finishing the book, I feel a bit more jaded but also way more aware. I’ve always felt like I fell a little short on the feminism spectrum since I hadn’t studied the classics and I probably can’t name many of the women who made important strides in the movement. There was a part of me that didn’t feel qualified to assert my voice and opinions in conversations revolving around gender equality. However, this book reassured me that the feelings I have are justified and worth having—I feel totally reinvigorated in my feminism.

It’s hard not to feel humorless, as a woman and a feminist, to recognize misogyny in so many forms, some great and some small, and know you’re not imagining things. It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away. The problem is not that one of these things is happening; it’s that they are all happening, concurrently and constantly.

(I absolutely LOVE this quote! It is the perfect example of Gay’s clever writing and honest perspective.)

Most importantly Bad Feminist made me mad. I’m mad that we, as women, have to deal with so much nonsense still. I’m mad that myself and other qualified, impressive women aren’t paid nearly what we deserve in comparison to our male coworkers. I’m mad that our culture glamorizes sexual harassment and inequality, making it seem like those of us who demand respect are “wrong” or “too radical” or “cold-hearted.” I’m mad that if I get catcalled or inappropriately touched, then my clothing or way I carry myself is to blame. I’m mad, and I’m sick of letting it happen or risk being coined the token “bitch” of the group if I refuse to go along with it. Misogyny is a big joke to most of our society where everyone goes along with it, and if you’re offended then you’re told to relax and just laugh because it’s a joke after all. Well I’m done pretending I’m relaxed, and I’m done trying to be on the inside of a joke that I don’t even find funny.

This book is an important reminder that there is still A LOT of room for improvement in regards to gender equality in this country. We live in a progressive country that still fosters so much negativity and absurd gender biases. The realization that equality is worth fighting for and I’m worth fighting for has become rekindled upon reading Bad Feminist, and I’m so happy it’s reawoken this in me.

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