 | Wow! These images from Eye-opening Info, really are amazing! Some are giggle worthy like the first woman walking with a gas mask & the pram is covered. Isn't the point of taking a kid out in a pram stimulation & fresh air? There's the disturbing like the nasty behavior of a racist caught on camera. And there's the pure joy of a little boy getting new shoes! Window on our past. |
Aha! The mystery of the missing table is solved! And it's disappearance revealed so much!
Rather than respond to the Facebook post directly so my other housemates would know, I got a private message from the bus dweller who, as he makes his own rules, simply "borrowed it" then forgot to return it, locked it up on his bus and left town. Typical.
My landlady, who likes to think of herself as soooo compassionate aired her true lack of sensitivity by saying she's "glad to have less stuff on the porch." Hmm. I have functional tables and green living plants out there. She has a filthy, moldy chair and couch on it as well as an ashtray the smokers clog with butts, and I usually empty the disgusting thing.
This isn't the first time she's showed her true colors. A previous basement dweller who was causing all kinds of problems decided to move my things without permission. He broke my keyboard in the process, really broke it & not only did she refuse to do anything to back me up she made all kinds of excuses for the guy. And then, "well I've had people move my stuff too..."
And your point crazy lady?
Ok. Universe! I've got it! This is not the place for me anymore! I'M LOOKING! Throw me a line would ya!
Rather than respond to the Facebook post directly so my other housemates would know, I got a private message from the bus dweller who, as he makes his own rules, simply "borrowed it" then forgot to return it, locked it up on his bus and left town. Typical.
My landlady, who likes to think of herself as soooo compassionate aired her true lack of sensitivity by saying she's "glad to have less stuff on the porch." Hmm. I have functional tables and green living plants out there. She has a filthy, moldy chair and couch on it as well as an ashtray the smokers clog with butts, and I usually empty the disgusting thing.
This isn't the first time she's showed her true colors. A previous basement dweller who was causing all kinds of problems decided to move my things without permission. He broke my keyboard in the process, really broke it & not only did she refuse to do anything to back me up she made all kinds of excuses for the guy. And then, "well I've had people move my stuff too..."
And your point crazy lady?
Ok. Universe! I've got it! This is not the place for me anymore! I'M LOOKING! Throw me a line would ya!
Hooray, Tea & Chanting Sangha tonight! I am totally unprepared and with the ongoing cough and voice troubles I do not know if I can even maintain chanting out loud.
Due to sickness and PantheaCon I've also let my practice of part one lapse and I don't have all my tools yet. Am I going to let that stop me? No way! I'm gratefully jumping in tonight, looking forward to part two and getting in full swing with this sacred ritual! ***
Due to sickness and PantheaCon I've also let my practice of part one lapse and I don't have all my tools yet. Am I going to let that stop me? No way! I'm gratefully jumping in tonight, looking forward to part two and getting in full swing with this sacred ritual! ***
***DISCLAIMER: Looking back at this comment makes me sick. This is when I was participating in monthly chanting in Oakland with a self proclaimed holy woman, who went by "Rabbit Matthews" among other things. She was not a good person. She hurt me and a lot of people I care about. At this point I was already starting to feel that I needed to get out but I felt I needed to keep up appearances. Her practice was fraudulent. Even though I enjoyed it very much, I feel these chants are tainted and I can't do this anymore,
Part of me is every bit the strong, talented, confident and together woman you see before you. The other part is ribbons, tatters, healing wounds, shaky but determined cobbled together with bits of duct tape and chewing gum, but ultimately bound by love.
Oh, and my friend Fawn reminds me, "Don't forget the toilet paper stuck to your shoe."
Isn't this the way we all are as human brings, really? The walking wounded part we are afraid the world will see and the part we put forward that is part real, part mask.
Oh, and my friend Fawn reminds me, "Don't forget the toilet paper stuck to your shoe."
Isn't this the way we all are as human brings, really? The walking wounded part we are afraid the world will see and the part we put forward that is part real, part mask.
YES! In your face would be fat shamers!
Word from one of my real life heroines!
Ode to my Mode Merr pink Elephant Skirt: Why a skirt can be so important (long post)
I was in Jr High in the early 90s. It was the birth of grunge and quilted flannel with turtle necks (no I don't have pictures, at least not with me). It was also when I ran around in my dad's old button ups and ties trying to get the right Janet Jackson circa Escapade look. My parents were concerned in that I wasn't feminine enough so they bought me HOT PINK sweats. Now I'd wear that with pride, but, back then, I just wanted to avoid people making fun of my size. Classmates wrote "wide load" on my ass in yearbook pictures. I was one of the biggest kids in school. Children are cruel so I tried to not give them ammunition.
These sweats stayed at the bottom of the drawer as the ultimate last resort for any sort of practice I had to do.
One fateful day in high school, we hadn't gotten to the laundry so last resort sweats it was for track and field. After finishing my laps with the throwers, I came to the stretching circle to find everyone laughing. When I asked why, no one would say so I knew it must have been about me. I called out a friend for it and he fessed up. A teammate was making pink elephant cracks as I did my laps. Aside from the others who had been running with me, even friends I had for years were cracking up at my expense. In that scary calm, I let them have it without raising my tone and stretch away from the group with the few people not entertained at my expense. Those sweats never saw the light of day again.
Late 90s fat girl fashion was awful. It didn't exist really unless I wanted to look like my aunt (trust me, this was a huge no at 16. Fashion track suits were all the rage in Louisiana at the time). People kept filling my head with:
- Don't wear orange you'll look like a pumpkin
- don't wear red you'll look like a tomato
- don't wear white......and so on
Essentially, black is slimming. Wear black. All Black. Be invisible. Don't take up space. You're too big. Don't stand out.
As I got older I silenced to tapes to dull murmurs. I'd be a liar if I said they were gone. I found cute clothes that fit and fit my actual taste. Through burlesque I discovered Mode Merr. I almost dismissed them until I saw they went up to a 3x. So I started to surf their site.
And there it was. In all its pink glitter glory. It reminded me of this story so vividly. I had to have it. I couldn't think of a better flip off everyone whoever told me I wouldn't be cute or desirable than to strut down the street in a tight pencil skirt with a pink elephant on it. You can't use it to insult me again because I wear it too damn fabulously! I wear this skirt with an air of "FINALLY," "FUCK YOU," and "FUCK YEA FAT FEMME! WHAT!"
-Alotta Boutté 02/25/2014
I was in Jr High in the early 90s. It was the birth of grunge and quilted flannel with turtle necks (no I don't have pictures, at least not with me). It was also when I ran around in my dad's old button ups and ties trying to get the right Janet Jackson circa Escapade look. My parents were concerned in that I wasn't feminine enough so they bought me HOT PINK sweats. Now I'd wear that with pride, but, back then, I just wanted to avoid people making fun of my size. Classmates wrote "wide load" on my ass in yearbook pictures. I was one of the biggest kids in school. Children are cruel so I tried to not give them ammunition.
These sweats stayed at the bottom of the drawer as the ultimate last resort for any sort of practice I had to do.
One fateful day in high school, we hadn't gotten to the laundry so last resort sweats it was for track and field. After finishing my laps with the throwers, I came to the stretching circle to find everyone laughing. When I asked why, no one would say so I knew it must have been about me. I called out a friend for it and he fessed up. A teammate was making pink elephant cracks as I did my laps. Aside from the others who had been running with me, even friends I had for years were cracking up at my expense. In that scary calm, I let them have it without raising my tone and stretch away from the group with the few people not entertained at my expense. Those sweats never saw the light of day again.
Late 90s fat girl fashion was awful. It didn't exist really unless I wanted to look like my aunt (trust me, this was a huge no at 16. Fashion track suits were all the rage in Louisiana at the time). People kept filling my head with:
- Don't wear orange you'll look like a pumpkin
- don't wear red you'll look like a tomato
- don't wear white......and so on
Essentially, black is slimming. Wear black. All Black. Be invisible. Don't take up space. You're too big. Don't stand out.
As I got older I silenced to tapes to dull murmurs. I'd be a liar if I said they were gone. I found cute clothes that fit and fit my actual taste. Through burlesque I discovered Mode Merr. I almost dismissed them until I saw they went up to a 3x. So I started to surf their site.
And there it was. In all its pink glitter glory. It reminded me of this story so vividly. I had to have it. I couldn't think of a better flip off everyone whoever told me I wouldn't be cute or desirable than to strut down the street in a tight pencil skirt with a pink elephant on it. You can't use it to insult me again because I wear it too damn fabulously! I wear this skirt with an air of "FINALLY," "FUCK YOU," and "FUCK YEA FAT FEMME! WHAT!"
-Alotta Boutté 02/25/2014
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