The return of a classic. Ay, dios mio!
A time-honored tradition!
Donald Trump?! REALLY? Not on our watch, y’all. A man who hurls vicious insults at women, demeans our intelligence, and threatens to put us in jail for having abortions is NOT going to be our president.
(That’s my personal donate link, btw – do me a solid, and help me show the folks at the campaign that snarky women of the internet are a force to be reckoned with. Thank you!!)
I mean c’mon, it’s not like 1 in 3 women have abortions, or like SCOTUS heard arguments on a case to severely limit abortion rights just last week, right? Oh. Oh, I see. Huh. Seems like the candidates should maybe discuss this.
I just learned that a woman killed at the Planned Parenthood clinic in Colorado, Jennifer Markovsky, was there supporting her friend. This makes me so indescribably angry I don’t know what to do. Because this is a core part of what it means to be a woman. When our friends have a breast lump, or need a rape kit, or are getting an abortion, we drop absolutely everything to be there for them – no questions, no judgment. That’s what our friendships are about. And the idea that some man could burst into that space, could murder a woman for supporting a friend in need – no. No, I don’t accept that.
So I’m making a donation to Planned Parenthood today in honor of Jennifer Markovsky, in honor of every friend who has been there during the impossible times, in honor of all my friends who’ve been there for me. I hope you’ll make a donation, too – click here to give now.
Because that might do some actual good for the country.
See you in hell, binding dresses!
Use code WOC to save even more!
This weekend, one of my best friends got married, and when I got home Sunday night, I found out another best friend was newly engaged. I was at a party with several friends (all married or in committed relationships), and I started crying – tears of “I love you so much, I’m so happy for you!” quickly turned into public, ridiculous, unmitigated sobbing that continued through the cab ride home and into my apartment.
At the time, I chalked up the tears to exhaustion and general life stuff, but after a good night’s sleep, I’m forced to admit their true nature: They were “I’m never getting married so my life doesn’t mean anything” tears.
I’m one of those perpetually, irrevocably single people. I question the patriarchal nature of marriage, whether a long-term relationship would even be right for me, whether I’d want to raise children with a partner or on my own, and I question giving up my freedom to travel and make my own choices and pour my time into my work and writing to focus so much energy on another person.
And yet. And yet. And yet.
There’s this gnawing feeling that a single life isn’t real because no one sees it. No one bears witness to your day-to-day triumphs and agonies, your lonely slog, your days and years slipping by. No matter how proud I am of my accomplishments, everything can feel like a failure when viewed through the lens of whether it’s good enough to make up for the fact that I never spent any time trying to get married.
I’m not saying anything here that hasn’t been said many times before by other writers (see? other writers said this already! should have just gotten married), but I’m feeling it so acutely that I wanted to make a couple of resolutions – hell, maybe I’ll get sentimental and call them vows:
1. To remember that an unmarried life can be just as full of love as a married one, just as fulfilling, just as bountiful, just as joyous. To give love freely and generously, in the spirit of one who can.
2. To see my own life. Not to ignore it or turn away from it, but to give myself the honor of believing that my days mean something, even when they’re sucky or a little bit boring.
3. To cry buckets if I fucking need to, and also maybe eat a burrito.
If you’ve read this the whole way through, what can I say? Congratulations! Message me and I’ll send you a prize of some kind. You’re the best.
smooches, ksl
