Wow, YouTube really GETS me.
Wow, YouTube really GETS me.
I started crying for no reason while telling The Fella, “I’m not that sick,” so I guess I am that sick.
Soon after, I wanted to be sitting under my blanket, but I was already sitting on my blanket. That posed such an unsolvable physical puzzle that I started (barely) crying in frustration.
(Crying is a big symptom of illness in the women in my family. Decades ago, my mother was diagnosed with pneumonia only after she started crying while telling the doctor, “I’m not that sick.”)
me: … so I put it on my Tumblr and—
The Fella: You don’t have a Tumblr.
The Fella: …
me: I’ve had a Tumblr for, like, a year and a half.
The Fella: You have a WordPress.
me: And I have a Tumblr. So I wrote it up on WordPress, then added it to my Tumblr and linked the Tumblr entry to the WordPress entry. And I should probably link the Tumblr entry back to the WordPress to close the loop.
The Fella: You have a Tumblr?
me: I have a Tumblr. I sometimes link my articles there, but I mostly use it for Social Justice Warrior stuff and cat gifs.
The Fella: You have a Tumblr.
me: I have a Tumblr. All those times I showed you silly cat videos from my Tumblr feed, you thought…?
The Fella: I thought you went to Tumblr.
me: Yeah, I have a Tumblr.
The corker: This conversation was about a post in which I made fun of men who don’t know women lead independent existences. If you’d like to know more about my independent existence, see my contact info on my about me page.
Over at The VideoReport, fearless leader Bill Duggan has an announcement to make, former VideoReporters of years past have some memories to share, your tireless editor keeps on highlighting new releases, and I have one last recommendation for a free rental that will break your heart, and it should.
I’ve been trying to count up how many friendships, marriages, partnerships, and careers Videoport nurtured in that cool, well-stocked cellar, and I can’t even begin to tally ’em all up. Thank you, Videoport, for everything — for even more than the movies, when just the movies would have been gift enough.
Engaging in conversations about street harassment on Twitter is like saying that reluctant “Hello” back to a strange man who says “Hi!” on the street: sometimes it’s fine, but mostly it just means he latches on and follows you, yelling, for the next five blocks, and you never know which it will be until it’s happening.
Women don’t owe men their attention, on the street, on the subway, or on Twitter…
… but Twitter has a block button.
There are a lot of things true love is, and here are just two of them:
True love is sending your exhausted husband home from the hospital overnight because there’s no sense in both of you going without sleep, and never regretting it during the long, lonely, sleepless night.
And true love is sitting in that rumpled hospital bed in the faint light of morning, hours before he could possibly be planning to return, hearing distant footsteps two corridors away, and knowing those are his footsteps, coming straight to your room.