This shit has seriously got me ticked off right now. My friend (we’ll call her K) just messaged me on Facebook to say that she was called “bossy” in a group message with her male groupmates about a project in response to her giving a matter of fact answer to a question.
(Me, in duck form).
As someone who has been called bossy on multiple occasions, I have had a particularly hateful relationship with that word, primarily because it seems to be used solely to describe women. Men don’t call other men bossy using Michelle from Full House GIFs. Men call women bossy when they are trying to undermine and silence them.
Nonetheless, I have recently taken reclaiming the word in the way some women have with other choice insults hurled at us. I’m bossy? GREAT, THANK YOU. I GET SHIT DONE. HOW ABOUT YOU?
My friend K is too, one of those boss bitches that gets shit done. She goes to Georgetown and is getting her second Master’s after having gotten her first Master’s at the university where I work, speaks wonderful Arabic, and is overall just a fucking delight. She got there on her own- no rich parents, and certainly no male privilege to help her out.
Overall, I find that men who throw around the b-word are painfully mediocre, especially in comparison to people like K. They’ve had things handed to them and been applauded for average (at best) work.
Anyway, rant over.
I’m sure there is no such thing as a second inaugural anything, but hey. I’ve slacked off, per my usual pattern, with keeping up on writing this thing. My boyfriend (most likely my only fan/reader) has been bothering me about when I’m going to post again and I was just like “uhhhhh.”
But here I am. My excuse for being away so long is that I’ve been hella busy with my new job, which is overall pretty great. It’s just been a complete 180 from what I was doing before, despite what I thought where a lot of similarities between the two jobs. Same skillsets but entirely different applications, it seems.
Anyway, boring adulting shit aside. Despite the fact that I’m turning 25, I’m pretty excited about this weekend. Boyfriend and I are going to Eataly to gorge ourselves on risotto and wine. I got childishly excited when I found out about the risotto pop up.
Here’s to carb and wine coma all weekend.
Hey all. (Assuming that there is even an all, to begin with). So far, I don’t really have a particular vision in mind for the blog, other than just a means of spewing thoughts into the internet void. My boyfriend also convinced me that I should start writing again, after years of not really getting anywhere with it while I was in college. Three and half years out, I’ve been working and I think I’ve used that as even more of an excuse to avoid doing anything deeply creative.
I remember thinking the other day that as a child, I was constantly writing things and making up stories in my head. I was also heavily into writing poetry as a teen and got even more deeply entrenched when I discovered Sylvia Plath, who I’ve come to realize is the patron saint of basically all angsty, “different” girls. Not knocking Sylvia, though. She’s still a straight up g and I still have like 3 versions of Ariel on my bookshelves.
Anyway, I just remember writing being a great outlet for a kid like me with a flood of ideas and opinions. I hope that with time, I can somehow get in touch with that feeling again. Then again, I’m going to be 25 in about a month, (HOLY SHIT) so maybe I’m also having some sort of quarter (one-third?) life crisis in my pursuit of reconnecting with my roots. So in that vein, here is the adult(ish) me making a figurative offering of Tagalong Girl Scout cookies and Tazo Plum Delicious iced tea to the idea fountain that was 10-year-old me in hopes that she will make me whole again (or at least a half) and fruitful in my literary pursuits.