It’s been a hard week for women that blog. Earlier this week, The Wall Street Journal took it upon themselves to not only lump in all women that write online as mom bloggers (they all have a uterus right?), but to label the conferences and business trips that women bloggers go on as the “Mommy Business Trip.” The type of trip stay-at-home moms book just so they can get the hell out of dodge and, finally, leave their children and partners behind. Otherwise, you can find them cleaning, cooking and generally slowly dying of the Feminist Mystique. Katherine
Stone, a friend, ultimate professional and the voice behind Postpartum Progress, felt compelled to apologize for the way she was portrayed and, by extension, all parents that blog. I can understand
I was scanning stories to write about today and I came across this one about Alice Jackson, a British woman who suffered from anorexia but is now competing in the Curvy Kate lingerie contest. At almost six feet tall, she used to only eat lettuce and run two miles a day and dropped down to a deathly 108 pounds. She sought treatment in Britain and is now a healthy 150+ pounds and is considered plus-size. What in the bloody hell? How is that considered plus size as opposed to regular size I will never know, but good for her. I took it upon myself to watch the Curvy Kate You Tube video where all the girls who are compete basically jump around, pose and look hot as
This weekend I went to a one-day intensive blogging conference in Philadelphia. Like most conferences, I met amazing people, participated in inspiring sessions about blogging and then realized I’m completely fucked. For you non-blogging folks: feel free to read another post of mine because it’s about to get all State of Blogging up in here. How about that time I wrote about naked house cleaning Maybe this is a community specific problem or maybe it’s a blogging problem, but here is the take away from the sessions I picked to attend — which I might add had rock star presenters who were not the issue — whatever session you’re in and whatever it’s about, if you’re not currently doing whatever the presenter is evangelizing, you’re fucked. WHAT!
I just came across the horrific news of the attempted suicide and subsequent death of Rehtaeh Parsons; a 15-year-old girl that was allegedly raped by four teen boys who then shared photos (a la Steubenville) to classmates. I’ll let Rehtaeh’s mother explain as she did from a post on “Rae’s” Facebook memorial page: The person Rehtaeh once was all changed one dreaded night in November 2011. She went with a friend to another’s home. In that home she was raped by four young boys…one of those boys took a photo of her being raped and decided it would be fun to distribute the photo to everyone in Rehtaeh’s school and community where it quickly went viral. Because the boys already had a “slut” story, the victim of the
Here are my Friday Faves on Tuesday. Because it’s better late than never and I’m sure you were expecting nothing less from me. I mean, it’s ME folks. A “loopsie” is what happens when two lesbians get accidentally pregnant. Alabama gives abortion the ol’ heave-ho. Well, they’re trying to anyway. Assholes. Mommy blogging IS a political act. The NY Times dedicates an entire pullout section to women on Wall Street and it’s surprisingly un-Sandberg. Thank the Heavens for that. I hope Liz Cheney keeps writing like a stark-raving lunatic. Seriously I do. I hope she continues to preach to the die-hards. It only means they’ll keep losing elections. Say Hi to Poppa Vader for us. Even Marilyn Monroe hated looking at pictures of herself [NSFW]. When women
I spent the last two days in Philly. On Friday night, I took the Kid down to the Titanic exhibit at the Franklin Institute and then today we strolled and did the playground thing on South Street. Both are iconic Philadelphia and for almost six months I have been confined to the suburbs and this house. I can now confirm to you that I will never kill myself. Because if there ever was a reason to grab the ol’ noose I leave around for those just in case moments every day of the past six months has been beyond noose worthy. Considering that I’m still here, I’m certain I can live through anything. Even torture. Like intentionally blaring “Call Me Maybe.” We may head back down
Last week I gorged on the last half of Season Three in an epic, late-night marathon. I did this to make sure that when the season was strung together without break, it would hold up to the first two. I watched Season One and Season Two this way and it’s how I became a huge fan. Slasher watched by-the-episode and he said Season One was unbelievable because the CDC was a ticking time bomb without any kind of resolution. By comparison, I breezed to the Season Two opener 30 seconds later and found out the gang made it out of the CDC. Slasher had to wait six months to find that out. —— As a whole, here’s what happened in Season 3: they find the prison, Laurie