Take What You Have Gathered From Coincidence

Strike another match, go start anew

And it’s all over now, Baby Blue

The Beauty Myth

“The maturing of a woman who has continued to grow is a beautiful thing to behold.

Or, if your ad revenue or your seven-figure salary or your privileged sexual status depend on it, it is an operable condition.” 


-Naomi Wolf

Self Awareness Awareness, or, Ugh.

Lately, I've noticed that most of us are totally full of crap. We say things like "certainly" and "wonderful" and "impact," and almost never mean any of it.

I sign work emails like this:

"Best,
Abby"

Sometimes, when I don't like the person I'm emailing, I'll send this instead:

"Best.
Abby"

I purposefully put that "." in there, or I even leave it out, altogether (be still, my English Literature degree) but hope it looks like a slip of the pinky, because I can't close my professional emails with something as honest as:

"Please re-read this because you're an idiot and will ask me something I already explained, I know it,
Abby"

Or

"This is not your calling,
Abby"

When I was little and people asked me what I wanted to be as a grown up, I said that I either wanted to be a dinosaur, or a cashier. In hindsight, and now that I know a little bit about evolution, I still wish I were a cashier. I was one, once. Cashiers have the most fun. They have a satisfying job and they get paid to press buttons and people watch. They're also encouraged to wear sneakers to work.

I know this isn't an original idea, that we're all full of crap. But sitting in my over-air conditioned office today and exchanging emails and "following up" about things that really don't matter has turned this unoriginal idea into a suffocating and blinding truth.

So, now what? Now that I know the suffocating and blinding truth, now what?

Now, I will arrange my thumbtacks into a smiley face, because I am an adult and I have to work for a living.

Who Needs Original Ideas When Borges Thought All The Good Ones?

After a while, you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning,
And company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn...
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure... 

That you really are strong 

And you really do have worth... 

And you learn and learn... 

With every good-bye, you learn.

Progress Feels Fat and Bloated

"But I think the first real change in women’s body image came when JLo turned it butt-style. That was the first time that having a large-scale situation in the back was part of mainstream American beauty. Girls wanted butts now. Men were free to admit that they had always enjoyed them. And then, what felt like moments later, boom—Beyoncé brought the leg meat. A back porch and thick muscular legs were now widely admired. And from that day forward, women embraced their diversity and realized that all shapes and sizes are beautiful. Ah ha ha. No. I’m totally messing with you. All Beyonce and JLo have done is add to the laundry list of attributes women must have to qualify as beautiful. Now every girl is expected to have Caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama, and doll tits. The person closest to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes.” -Tina Fey, Bossypants