Monthly Archives: October 2010

Stuff Rachel Fucking Hates

Jesus Christ, shut up about the GLEE GQ photoshoot already I don’t care if Lea Michele wears pants or not. I extra specially don’t care whether or not you care about that. You know what I care about? I’m not wearing pants (YES) and also spilled tea on myself (NOOOO).

I think the baristas at Coffeeshop Of Choice now recognize me This is not an inherently bad thing, I am just irrationally self-conscious/embarrassed by it. I think because I have my own regulars, and while roughly 80% of them I am genuinely glad to see there are some that are annoying, and I groan internally when I see them walk in. I think I am just really afraid of being one of those, you know? What if I am “that girl who always asks for more hot water because she’s too cheap to buy another tea?” Or, I mean, I know I am that girl, but what if that is really annoying?

Pushup bras. I feel just by manufacturing these – especially in A cup sizes – you are implying to me that I must be pining away for more cleavage, and that is emphatically not true. Also, I think I am bothered by what seems to me a legitimate deception in wearing “enhancing” lingerie; if I am wearing this, Bridget Jones-style, so that someone is more likely to take this bra off me and see me naked, will they not just be surprised/annoyed that I in fact have a chest like a thirteen-year-old boy? I don’t know, this is confusing and irritating to me as a concept.

The “punk panhandlers” in Harvard Square. Really? You have the nerve to make a sign asking for beer money while wearing a Misfits hoodie that probably cost $40 when there’s an alcoholic stroke victim on the other side of the newsstand? Grow a pair and either get a job or go back home to your parents’ house, you’re an embarrassment.

I feel like a forty-year-old woman saying this but I really want a garden You know what you can grow in a garden? KALE. And TOMATOES. And then you can EAT THEM. Without paying like two dollars a pound. I don’t ask for that much out of life, I don’t think, but that is one thing I would like to ask for. KALE PLANTS.


I have made the possibly-inadvisable and still totally retractable decision to “apply to grad school.” It turns out this is really intensive and requires 1) paperwork 2) talking to people/asking favors of them 3) having to read/judge my own work 4) meeting a variety of deadlines 5) inviting other people/institutions to very literally accept or reject me. THESE ARE ALL MY FAVORITE THINGS. obviously. Omfg Jesus though really, this is already stressful and I have not actually even “started” per se. Hold me.


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Stuff Heather Thinks is Super Great

Tomorrow I will pick up my college yearbook at the post office! In school, as a young’un, I was considered kind of weird because I actually liked pep rallies and also harbored a lifelong desire to be a cheerleader not because of the stereotype of popularity associated with it, or because I liked sports –– I really, really didn’t and don’t –– but because of the act of cheering.  In this same vein, I love yearbooks.  What can I say?  I am a sentimental beast.

Jezebel’s video gallery of Halloween makeup tutorials. I love makeup and costumery, obvs, so I like Halloween.  This year is one of the few times I haven’t constructed an absurdly complex ensemble and/or paint job; the video tutorials take me back to a simpler time when I didn’t have to go to a Halloween party straight from work and could, if I so chose, dress myself up as an awesomely accurate, completely unsexy Captain Planet.  Look at this Terminator tutorial and tell me that’s not impressive!

The Poisonwood Bible. It took me the reading equivalent of the Paleozoic era to get through this, but it was excellent!  I can see why a professor of ours used to talk about it so often.  The ending was heartrending and the characters –– one in particular –– went through such transformations that it makes my head spin, a little, trying to figure out how exactly Barbara Kingsolver did it.

Christmas bras. The clothing store I work at has started putting out its Christmas stock, mostly skivvies patterned with candy canes and lacy lingerie that happens to come in green and red.  The existence of such themed lingerie strikes me as hilarious.  It will stop being funny, though, if we get in any red negligees with white faux-fur trim.

Apple cider. Why don’t I have any right now?  Moreover, why does the local coffeeshop charge so much for a small cup of it?  *whine whine whine*

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if i had my own tumblr meme

It would go like this:



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i don’t even

I read on Jezebel, then at the Daily Mail, that a mother in England restricts her daughter to 700 calories a day, because she doesn’t want the girl to end up fat like her.  That’s less than half of what the eight-year-old should be getting at her age, and this started this six years ago, when the daughter was TWO.

I don’t even.

The mother, Aly Gilardoni, herself is fat and keeps her daughter Corleigh on such a severe diet because she fears Corleigh will inherit a genetic predisposition to fatness.  “I want her to be pretty and popular and she wouldn’t be if she was bigger.  My mum is 17 stone, so I think it runs in our family,” Gilardoni is quoted as saying.  She also goes on to brush off allegations that this will encourage Corleigh to later develop anorexia and says,

I’m glad I’ve trained her. I want her to grow up happy and do things I never did.  When I look in the mirror I still see a huge, monstrous woman. Corleigh’s not so underweight she’s going to die next week.  With an eating disorder you can get through it with therapy. But when you’re fat, you’re fat for life.

Obviously, there are more wrong statements in that speech than I know how to handle.  For instance, the last one.  I’m sure in the UK, hundreds of Closer (where the interview was first produced) and Mail readers have reported her to child services by now.  How is it possible people can think this way?  It’s baffling.  It goes so far against common sense.  Like setting out to capture a wild badger, sewing it a tiny winter hat for warmth and protection, releasing it back into the wild, then saying you had worked in the badger’s best interest.

It goes almost without saying that Gilardoni’s primary problem is not her size, but her attitude of obsessive self-loathing toward it, which she has passed onto her eight-year-old.  This poor girl.  It’s easy, when you are fat or skinny, to look in the mirror and read your appearance as a physical manifestation of your imperfection.  If you are already inclined to believe you’re not good enough, it is easy to look at your body or face or hair and say concretely, “This is what’s wrong with you.”  Because that way, you can theoretically fix whatever is wrong with you.  You can starve yourself, induce vomiting, work out excessively, body-modify, eat more food.  You can control your body.  You can remake it in your own (ideal) image.  But even if you manage to “correct” your appearance to match your ideal, it likely won’t absolve you of self-criticism.  And if you can’t fix your appearance –– well, you’re weak, and that’s just another thing wrong with you.

Gilardoni seems to believe that only fat people are capable of making themselves image-obsessed, self-hating, and unhappy.  She says that she views herself as a “huge, monstrous woman” and wants her daughter “to be happy and do things I never did.”  Ensuring her daughter’s thinness, though, is not the way to make her happy; ensuring she doesn’t feel like there is something fundamentally wrong with her, is.  Thin people, Ms. Gilardoni, can be miserable too, and you’ve essentially ensured your daughter’s unhappiness by causing her to “always [be] looking in mirrors.”  (Not to mention the health risks.  Not to mention the fact that she should hit puberty soon and needs correct nourishment.  Not to mention the predisposition toward an eating disorder –– which is not something one easily gets over, by the way.  It causes one to look in the mirror and see a huge, monstrous woman until one gets physically ill.)


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Stuff Rachel Fucking Hates

Myself, for not blogging for so long, etc etc

That there does not exist a 24-hour coffeeshop in my vicinity It is not my fault that I feel the urge to be sitting in a semi-public space with a pot of tea and an overpriced laptop at its strongest approximately a half hour before the latest-open coffeeshop closes. I assume this is one of the things that Obama’s socialist revolution will fix.


The future I think I recall an informal poll of the AS staff, possibly conducted via a social media tool, revealed that our #1 reason for psychotherapy or prescription drugs was “fear of the future.” I relate to this feeling.

Stupid tattoos Seriously you guys there are so many of them! I was going to link to some but I can’t, I just can’t. They make me upset and angry in a way I cannot describe. I don’t know. Knowing that you got a tattoo of that chick from Psycho on your calf makes me roughly as disheartened about the state of the world as nine-year-olds on diets and that Bridezillas show. THAT’S THE ONLY CALF YOU HAVE. Well I mean it’s one of two. But still.

The Christina Aguilera/SamRo media clusterfuck If one were to design a “news story” to be specifically irritating to me as a person, or to more accurately define “opposite of an actual news story,” this would be it. Actually I guess it could also involve sexting or something, but other than that.

The ending of Freedom makes me feel generally sort of sad and resigned about our emotional and moral capabilities as humans. I don’t know how else to say it. “She cried for some long while then, some ten or a hundred minutes.” I don’t know. I mean, JFranz is no Jonathan Safran Foer, if you know what I’m saying; it’s not like you’re being hit in the face with a shovel shaped like 9/11 or the Holocaust. But still. It’s no rollicking good time like Never Let Me Go, if you know what I’m saying!

General sense of confusion and bewilderment at the idea of “going outside” It has been pretty beautiful out lately, if by beautiful you mean “not as cold as one might expect for this time of year” and that is indeed what I mean and I keep thinking that I should really “enjoy” it and “get out in the fresh air” but it turns out that I have not really grown up at all from the bookish little girl who was at a complete loss for what to do when told to go play outside. Like, what do you do there? Sandbox? Walk to the bank to deposit tips into checking account? Walk by cupcake bakery but realize that one cupcake is not work 1-1.5 hours worth of tips? Walk to a coffeeshop and tip someone else? I am doing it wrong, and painfully aware of that fact.

Another one of my friends at work was fired this week. As I think Emma observed, you can most faithfully recreate this situation at home by singing the Antoine Dodson youtube sensation, replacing “raping” with “firing.” Like really, they’re just firing everybody. After being shocked and sad, I thought “I’m glad I burned her that An Horse cd, even though I was worried it would be weird/too much.” I also thought that probably Scott just split his dinner with me because he felt bad, and I was grateful for that, but did not say it.

When people misspell “lose” as “loose” Least favorite typo, amirite?


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so long, Maxwell

Tomorrow I am selling my car/wheeled boat Maxwell to my cousin and subsequently buying my dad’s car from him.  Which means, since I am one of those people who name their cars, it’s titling time!  Dad’s car is small, squat and white, so the three names currently in the running are Albus, Alejandro and White Lightning.  Other suggestions?

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Stuff Heather Thinks is Super Great

The DADT injunction. About fucking time, amirite?  Too bad it’s bound to be repealed.  But still, a step in the right direction!

Greg Rucka’s piece on io9 about story research. Smart, incisive, interesting.  Guys, the Internet is all well and good –– is evermore Super Great –– but sometimes when you’re trying to write a story, it’s not enough.  I’m with Greg Rucka on this: the practice of research has gone way down, with some authors.  I mean, Olive Kitteridge was very well-written, but Elizabeth Strout should know that Dunkin Donuts does not employ waitresses.

The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver. I’m only about 150 pages in, but so far it’s good.  Adah is clearly the best.  I kind of want the father to die of malaria, but it’s clear from the way she subtly condemns him that I am supposed to want this.

This picture of kittens that Emma found:

I made this my laptop wallpaper and I’m not gonna lie, it does make me feel a little better when I’m stressed.

ZooBorns. An entire website devoted to baby zoo animals.  OMFG.

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Best of Craigslist #10

For the mom who already has Facebook, and it’s not helping her son’s marriage prospects any.

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beep boop

Sometimes I neglect blogging because I’m angry and frustrated with myself.  Part of me feels that to live at an ideal level, to best understand others in both real life and in a writing capacity, I need to be some kind of cyborg.  To function as a window: a totally transparent medium with no individual markers or qualities aside from the ability to display others.* 

It’s a ridiculous notion, I know.  No one can entirely shut off their capacity to feel — and furthermore, who’d want to?  I certainly don’t.  I wish for a toggle switch.  So the more applicable the title of this blog becomes, the more reluctant I am to actually blog.  And this rule goes double for Stuff Heather Thinks is Super Great, which is why you regular readers haven’t seen much of that lately.

As this blog goes on, Super Great Stuff seems more and more pointless.  I mean, what’s left to say?  “OMG, this week I still think Glee/Mad Men is awesome”?  “Look at these recycled links from Jezebel and/or Autostraddle, which most of you probably already saw on Wednesday”?  “Yes, I’m reading The Mysteries of Pittsburgh again”?**  It all seems so inane in comparison to what Rachel Fucking Hates –– the homophobia, racism, etc. –– and that’s as it should be.  Then again, we need something to counterbalance the onslaught of bad news and Katy Perry.  So, I don’t know. 

*This also contributes to my need for accuracy in certain Halloween costumes, like Captain Planet.
**Actually, I’m reading The Poisonwood Bible.  It’s about damn time.

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an open letter to my debtors

Dear [redacted],

I think I might dislike the first-grade-teacher voice of your “speak into the phone!” computer system even more than a standard automaton.  Also, you should really make it simpler for someone to find your phone number, instead of hiding it in a matryoshka of related websites.


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