Dear No One in Particular,
I've been told that religion and politics are never topics for pleasant conversation. And I've pretty much held to that piece of advice. I'm extremely passionate, opinionated, and infuriatingly stubborn, and while I might be a small percentage of people who possess that particular holy trinity of traits, just about everybody can get worked up into a lather over religion and politics.
When I started this blog, I decided that religion and politics would be off-limits, just like in my real life. I'm about to break that rule now, but this will not be a breeding ground for my liberal politics, just as I'm not really opening this oft-ignored blog into a forum to discuss the presidential race.
I'm genuinely terrified of a McCain presidency. Genuinely terrified. His track record regarding women's rights is appalling, and honestly, pulling a uterus onto his ticket doesn't come close to making up for that. In fact, it scares me more. I am worried that they believe that having a woman V.P. would draw votes simply for the novelty. I am worried that they believe that people are dumb enough to believe that a vote for Palin is similar to a vote for Hillary -- and I'm worried that they're right. I'm really, really worried about what they would do to our country should they -- God forbid -- win.
Full disclosure: I wasn't an Obama supporter from the beginning. I still have my reservations about him. My vote will 100% be a vote in favour of the lesser of two evils -- which, I must continue to admit is not the best phrase to describe how I feel about this. I don't particularly like peas, but if the alternative is eating nuclear waste, hand over the peas. I'll eat peas every day, and while it may not be the cake I wanted, it's not bad, and it's not nuclear waste.
Which is how I feel about the election: something I'm not all jumpity-excited over, but can live with vs. something that chills my bones and keeps me awake at night.
While I'm not a 100%, true-blue Democrat, I do believe that Obama is the beacon of hope that this country needs. He promises change, and I think that, while he is young and relatively (to McCain) inexperienced, he is far from "more of the same". And no matter what lies the Republicans tell, they are more of the same. Possibly worse, because they say these lies and believe them.
I will vote, even though my favourite candidate did not win the Democratic nomination. I will vote because I love this country, flawed as it is, and I know we can make it better. I know it can be better. And I know that, despite that it's been touted so many times it's now a cliche, we need to change for the better. I need to believe in that change, because what we need now is a reason to hope for a future better than the one we're currently experiencing.
I vote in favour of hope. Come November, I'm voting for change.
--amanda
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Pillow Fight
Dear No One in Particular,
The Boy and I have been together so long that we're essentially an old married couple. We rarely converse, we bicker. We argue constantly, yet we can't live without each other. It's sweet sometimes, but mostly it's infuriating, since we don't argue about anything of importance. No, we fight about minor, everyday things, like what kind of milk we should buy. I admit, I have a short temper, but it's mostly his fault, since he provokes me.
This morning, we fought about pillows.
Yes, pillows.
He was doing the laundry (which is nice, I admit), and I noticed that the pillows were stained. Really stained. Like, I can't remember what colour these were originally, they're covered in orange-y blobs stained. Naturally, I was grossed out and told the Boy that we needed to buy new ones stat. He looked at them and decided, no. No, we didn't. The orange pillows were just fine, and besides, we're moving soon anyway so what's the point in buying pillows that are only going to be tossed out?
I stared agog. Seriously? Could he not see the vast amounts of gross? The gross that we sleep on every night? Our faces, our beautiful faces lay on these filth-laden pillows for upwards of 8 hours. They were being thrown out tonight, and we were buying new pillows.
He threw a conniption fit, saying that buying new pillows is a total waste of money. I pointed out that we're not moving for another year, and I refuse to sleep on a Petri dish for that long. He argued that we have extra pillows hiding in a closet, which he pulled out for me to examine. These "perfectly good" replacements have been stored in a dusty, unused linen closet for the past 2 years and are covered in stains of their own. Additionally, they're curiously both flat and lumpy. I tossed them back at him and told him that they're rejected science experiments, and I now have hepatitis from handling them.
He looked more closely at them, and began to laugh, asking why we still have them then. I blew a gasket. I started shouting about how he is a miniature version of his father, and can't throw anything away because -- God forbid -- he might have to spend money to replace something that is absolutely horrifying (can you tell this is a recurring argument?). He laughed some more, while STEAM CAME OUT OF MY EARS. He then attempted to compromise, saying that I can buy a new pillow, while he continued to sleep on the stained ones. I told him if and when his face falls off, he can't borrow my pillow.
The Boy then began to examine our current pillows, saying that maybe we should get new pillows. I picked one up off the bed, shoved it towards his face, pointed at a particularly nasty looking stain and shouted "DIS-GUS-TING."
His reaction? "Ew. Yeah."
And then I fell over dead.
I nearly took pictures of the pillows just to show you what I have to live with, but I have some semblance of self-preservation left. Suffice it to say, any sane person would have looked at them and immediately headed to Macy's. Instead, I had a 30 minute screaming match about why stained pillows are unacceptable DO YOU SEE WHY I WILL DIE YOUNG.
The upside? The Boy conceded, somehow squeezed 4 pillows into a plastic bag making an uber-pillow, and tossed them in the dumpster. That's one small victory for reason, and 4 years off of my life.
--amanda
The Boy and I have been together so long that we're essentially an old married couple. We rarely converse, we bicker. We argue constantly, yet we can't live without each other. It's sweet sometimes, but mostly it's infuriating, since we don't argue about anything of importance. No, we fight about minor, everyday things, like what kind of milk we should buy. I admit, I have a short temper, but it's mostly his fault, since he provokes me.
This morning, we fought about pillows.
Yes, pillows.
He was doing the laundry (which is nice, I admit), and I noticed that the pillows were stained. Really stained. Like, I can't remember what colour these were originally, they're covered in orange-y blobs stained. Naturally, I was grossed out and told the Boy that we needed to buy new ones stat. He looked at them and decided, no. No, we didn't. The orange pillows were just fine, and besides, we're moving soon anyway so what's the point in buying pillows that are only going to be tossed out?
I stared agog. Seriously? Could he not see the vast amounts of gross? The gross that we sleep on every night? Our faces, our beautiful faces lay on these filth-laden pillows for upwards of 8 hours. They were being thrown out tonight, and we were buying new pillows.
He threw a conniption fit, saying that buying new pillows is a total waste of money. I pointed out that we're not moving for another year, and I refuse to sleep on a Petri dish for that long. He argued that we have extra pillows hiding in a closet, which he pulled out for me to examine. These "perfectly good" replacements have been stored in a dusty, unused linen closet for the past 2 years and are covered in stains of their own. Additionally, they're curiously both flat and lumpy. I tossed them back at him and told him that they're rejected science experiments, and I now have hepatitis from handling them.
He looked more closely at them, and began to laugh, asking why we still have them then. I blew a gasket. I started shouting about how he is a miniature version of his father, and can't throw anything away because -- God forbid -- he might have to spend money to replace something that is absolutely horrifying (can you tell this is a recurring argument?). He laughed some more, while STEAM CAME OUT OF MY EARS. He then attempted to compromise, saying that I can buy a new pillow, while he continued to sleep on the stained ones. I told him if and when his face falls off, he can't borrow my pillow.
The Boy then began to examine our current pillows, saying that maybe we should get new pillows. I picked one up off the bed, shoved it towards his face, pointed at a particularly nasty looking stain and shouted "DIS-GUS-TING."
His reaction? "Ew. Yeah."
And then I fell over dead.
I nearly took pictures of the pillows just to show you what I have to live with, but I have some semblance of self-preservation left. Suffice it to say, any sane person would have looked at them and immediately headed to Macy's. Instead, I had a 30 minute screaming match about why stained pillows are unacceptable DO YOU SEE WHY I WILL DIE YOUNG.
The upside? The Boy conceded, somehow squeezed 4 pillows into a plastic bag making an uber-pillow, and tossed them in the dumpster. That's one small victory for reason, and 4 years off of my life.
--amanda
Saturday, August 30, 2008
La Vida y la Muerte
Dear No One in Particular,
I feel a bit late to the party (again), but lord am I going bananas for Etsy.
I'm not completely new to Etsy, though. I bought a Christmas present for my mother last year from a seller. It was a great experience, really; the jewelry was beautifully handcrafted and reasonably priced. I don't know why I didn't really throw myself into the website until just recently, but I'm 100% thrown.
One of my absolute, hands-down favourite stores in the history of consumerism? ArtofSkulls. Despite the fact that they scared the poopie out of me as a kid, I'm now completely mad for Dia de los Muertos skulls. I want one in every colour and motif.
Really, this should come as no surprise, since they're a bit kitsch-y, tend to be obnoxiously coloured, and all-around over-the-top in terms of wall art. I'm not all that superficial: I really like that they celebrate death, not view it as something to be feared. Death should not be mourned as the passing of an individual, it should be a celebration of the amazing life they led! The fact that they are reminders of mortality isn't morbid -- it's a reminder to live a beautiful life.
Now, who wouldn't want that?
--amanda
P.S. I should admit that I already have calaveras art -- I bought a shadowbox/diorama while in Mexico City of calaveras mariachis serenading a lady calavera. I think that it'd go exceedingly well with whatever skull(s) I purchase.
P.P.S. If you're following my Twitter updates, I mentioned a painting of that the Boy did not approve of. Despite the fact that it's a camel, not a llama, I bought it earlier today. It was just too amazing. Good news for you, though: there's a pink and a green version of the same print.
I feel a bit late to the party (again), but lord am I going bananas for Etsy.
I'm not completely new to Etsy, though. I bought a Christmas present for my mother last year from a seller. It was a great experience, really; the jewelry was beautifully handcrafted and reasonably priced. I don't know why I didn't really throw myself into the website until just recently, but I'm 100% thrown.
One of my absolute, hands-down favourite stores in the history of consumerism? ArtofSkulls. Despite the fact that they scared the poopie out of me as a kid, I'm now completely mad for Dia de los Muertos skulls. I want one in every colour and motif.
Really, this should come as no surprise, since they're a bit kitsch-y, tend to be obnoxiously coloured, and all-around over-the-top in terms of wall art. I'm not all that superficial: I really like that they celebrate death, not view it as something to be feared. Death should not be mourned as the passing of an individual, it should be a celebration of the amazing life they led! The fact that they are reminders of mortality isn't morbid -- it's a reminder to live a beautiful life.
Now, who wouldn't want that?
--amanda
P.S. I should admit that I already have calaveras art -- I bought a shadowbox/diorama while in Mexico City of calaveras mariachis serenading a lady calavera. I think that it'd go exceedingly well with whatever skull(s) I purchase.
P.P.S. If you're following my Twitter updates, I mentioned a painting of that the Boy did not approve of. Despite the fact that it's a camel, not a llama, I bought it earlier today. It was just too amazing. Good news for you, though: there's a pink and a green version of the same print.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Beauty Misadventures
Dear No One in Particular,
Have you ever had one of those mornings when it's not so much that everything goes wrong, so much as it's the fact that the little things get screwy? Like a simple, everyday makeup routine results in panda eyes and Tammy Faye Bakker lashes? Yeah, I had one of those days yesterday.
I, like every other woman, am on the quest to find the Holy Grail of mascaras. I should admit here and now, I do not want natural-looking lashes. I want my lashes to be dramatically lush and long, like false lashes. My God-given eyelashes are actually really long and curly, but I don't think they're thick enough, and they're certainly not going to be mistaken for falsies any time soon.
Given my fondness for user-generated review sites, I frequent MakeupAlley.com for tips on buying my next tube. I had heard good things about my most recent purchase, Max Factor Volume Couture. It had a high rating, and after reading a couple of reviews, I figured it'd be worth a spin.
So. I put on some simple eye makeup and began to apply. First, the brush and handle are ridonkulously unwieldy. I've used Lash Blast without issue, but for some reason, I was not able to apply this mascara without getting black all over my eye. I looked like a five year old playing with Mommy's makeup. I'll forgive a lot for results, so I was willing to overlook the fact that it got more mascara on my eye than on my lashes if it gave me full lashes.
No forgiveness for Max, though. I must admit, I don't like rubber bristle brushes. I know they separate like nothing else, but this mascara gave me fat spider leg lashes. About 5 spider leg lashes per eye, to be exact, which I guess is better than the usual arachnoid, but worse for the human eye.
Normally, that would be the end of my beauty issues, but it didn't stop there. Apparently, like stank perfume and bad exes, bad mascara holds on long after you've washed your hands of it. I couldn't get this crud off. When mixed with some water, the spider legs decided to bond together, forming 2 huge spikes instead of 5 legs. Wonderous. On top of this, what mascara I was able to rub off had melted all around my eye and was spilling onto my cheeks. I looked like someone who just lost their shit and forgot they weren't wearing waterproof that day.
Frantic (because I was running late for school at this point), I spied a Prescriptives makeup remover sample hiding on my shelf, and smeared some it on my lashes. Holy hell, it felt like I just doused my eyes in battery acid. Whimpering like a beaten greyhound, I quickly washed off the carbolic acid that was burning holes in my face. Luckily, the makeup remover worked on the insidious mascara, and I was able to get most of the sludge off.
I realised a little too late that the bottle of calendula oil I have sitting on my vanity also works as a makeup remover. On the upside, I was able to use this to remove the traces of sad panda that the Prescriptives left behind.
Moral of the story: never test a new mascara while running late. Unless you like the Tammy Faye Panda look.
(Also, I am back on the hunt for the Holy Grail of mascaras. Should you chance on this site and have knowledge of one, please send word and let me know it exists.)
--amanda
Have you ever had one of those mornings when it's not so much that everything goes wrong, so much as it's the fact that the little things get screwy? Like a simple, everyday makeup routine results in panda eyes and Tammy Faye Bakker lashes? Yeah, I had one of those days yesterday.
I, like every other woman, am on the quest to find the Holy Grail of mascaras. I should admit here and now, I do not want natural-looking lashes. I want my lashes to be dramatically lush and long, like false lashes. My God-given eyelashes are actually really long and curly, but I don't think they're thick enough, and they're certainly not going to be mistaken for falsies any time soon.
Given my fondness for user-generated review sites, I frequent MakeupAlley.com for tips on buying my next tube. I had heard good things about my most recent purchase, Max Factor Volume Couture. It had a high rating, and after reading a couple of reviews, I figured it'd be worth a spin.
So. I put on some simple eye makeup and began to apply. First, the brush and handle are ridonkulously unwieldy. I've used Lash Blast without issue, but for some reason, I was not able to apply this mascara without getting black all over my eye. I looked like a five year old playing with Mommy's makeup. I'll forgive a lot for results, so I was willing to overlook the fact that it got more mascara on my eye than on my lashes if it gave me full lashes.
No forgiveness for Max, though. I must admit, I don't like rubber bristle brushes. I know they separate like nothing else, but this mascara gave me fat spider leg lashes. About 5 spider leg lashes per eye, to be exact, which I guess is better than the usual arachnoid, but worse for the human eye.
Normally, that would be the end of my beauty issues, but it didn't stop there. Apparently, like stank perfume and bad exes, bad mascara holds on long after you've washed your hands of it. I couldn't get this crud off. When mixed with some water, the spider legs decided to bond together, forming 2 huge spikes instead of 5 legs. Wonderous. On top of this, what mascara I was able to rub off had melted all around my eye and was spilling onto my cheeks. I looked like someone who just lost their shit and forgot they weren't wearing waterproof that day.
Frantic (because I was running late for school at this point), I spied a Prescriptives makeup remover sample hiding on my shelf, and smeared some it on my lashes. Holy hell, it felt like I just doused my eyes in battery acid. Whimpering like a beaten greyhound, I quickly washed off the carbolic acid that was burning holes in my face. Luckily, the makeup remover worked on the insidious mascara, and I was able to get most of the sludge off.
I realised a little too late that the bottle of calendula oil I have sitting on my vanity also works as a makeup remover. On the upside, I was able to use this to remove the traces of sad panda that the Prescriptives left behind.
Moral of the story: never test a new mascara while running late. Unless you like the Tammy Faye Panda look.
(Also, I am back on the hunt for the Holy Grail of mascaras. Should you chance on this site and have knowledge of one, please send word and let me know it exists.)
--amanda
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Part Asian, 2x More Crazy
Dear No One in Particular,
Researchers from UC-Davis found that hapas* are twice as likely to suffer from mental disorders.
*For future reference, I refer to biracial Asian-Causcasian individuals as "hapa".
As a hapa woman myself, I can't help but be intrigued by the findings of this study. My knee-jerk reaction was somewhat defensive, but on future reflection, I don't really know how to feel about this. To be 100% honest, I'm hapa and I suffer/have suffered from psychological disorders. Do I think that my ethnicity was the reason for my problems? Not really, and if I'm reading it right, I don't think that the Davis researchers are saying that either.
I think that the research is stating a simple fact: hapas suffer from psychological disorders at a higher rate than their monoracial counterparts. The end. There doesn't seem to be any judgment passed on the individuals; they simply are. I am hapa, and I suffer from mental disorders; I simply am.
This is not to say that the study should be taken at face value -- quite the opposite. Such racially-charged studies tread along very dangerous territory. Studies such as the one conducted at Davis can be used to support eugenics arguments, and have been enacted in the past. Which leads me to one of my major problems with the study -- it goes nowhere positive.
I suppose that statement could be revised to say that "it goes nowhere" period. Like I said before, it makes the statement that, compared to monoracial Asians, hapas suffer higher rates of mental disorders. But that's it! Definitely, definitely there needs to be further study. Why do hapas suffer more mental distress? Is it an environmental factor? A rearing factor? Or are they simply being over-diagnosed? What is going on here -- and most importantly, can it be remedied?
There is a danger in these findings, but there is also hope. Speaking from personal experience, a lot of my mental distress can be traced back to growing up hapa -- which could be chalked up to growing up as an island. I'm not very old at all, yet I knew only one other girl who was hapa, and I'm the only person in my family who is mixed. Really, there was practically no one who I could relate to, which I guess could have led to my issues with depression.
Perhaps, perhaps if the researchers didn't stop -- don't stop -- working with mentally disordered hapas, they can reduce the statistics and raise the awareness.
--amanda
Researchers from UC-Davis found that hapas* are twice as likely to suffer from mental disorders.
*For future reference, I refer to biracial Asian-Causcasian individuals as "hapa".
As a hapa woman myself, I can't help but be intrigued by the findings of this study. My knee-jerk reaction was somewhat defensive, but on future reflection, I don't really know how to feel about this. To be 100% honest, I'm hapa and I suffer/have suffered from psychological disorders. Do I think that my ethnicity was the reason for my problems? Not really, and if I'm reading it right, I don't think that the Davis researchers are saying that either.
I think that the research is stating a simple fact: hapas suffer from psychological disorders at a higher rate than their monoracial counterparts. The end. There doesn't seem to be any judgment passed on the individuals; they simply are. I am hapa, and I suffer from mental disorders; I simply am.
This is not to say that the study should be taken at face value -- quite the opposite. Such racially-charged studies tread along very dangerous territory. Studies such as the one conducted at Davis can be used to support eugenics arguments, and have been enacted in the past. Which leads me to one of my major problems with the study -- it goes nowhere positive.
I suppose that statement could be revised to say that "it goes nowhere" period. Like I said before, it makes the statement that, compared to monoracial Asians, hapas suffer higher rates of mental disorders. But that's it! Definitely, definitely there needs to be further study. Why do hapas suffer more mental distress? Is it an environmental factor? A rearing factor? Or are they simply being over-diagnosed? What is going on here -- and most importantly, can it be remedied?
There is a danger in these findings, but there is also hope. Speaking from personal experience, a lot of my mental distress can be traced back to growing up hapa -- which could be chalked up to growing up as an island. I'm not very old at all, yet I knew only one other girl who was hapa, and I'm the only person in my family who is mixed. Really, there was practically no one who I could relate to, which I guess could have led to my issues with depression.
Perhaps, perhaps if the researchers didn't stop -- don't stop -- working with mentally disordered hapas, they can reduce the statistics and raise the awareness.
--amanda
Thass Ridi-ka-lous
Dear No One In Particular,
How familiar are you with the unholy creations of International Male catalogue? I have to admit, beyond the passing reference, I had no idea how truly awful their designs were/are. However, I found myself getting an education in horrific this evening while perusing Jezebel. Apparently, they've been dissecting International Male's crimes against humanity for a while now. The photos and commentary have had me LOLing all night. Confession: I laughed so hard at the gauze overalls I cried.
Equally good -- and the source (of sorts) of my post title -- is Something Awful's take on IM. While the pictures are pretty amazing, the commentary has me in stitches.
Laughing at International Male: a great way to end a terrible day.
--amanda
How familiar are you with the unholy creations of International Male catalogue? I have to admit, beyond the passing reference, I had no idea how truly awful their designs were/are. However, I found myself getting an education in horrific this evening while perusing Jezebel. Apparently, they've been dissecting International Male's crimes against humanity for a while now. The photos and commentary have had me LOLing all night. Confession: I laughed so hard at the gauze overalls I cried.
Equally good -- and the source (of sorts) of my post title -- is Something Awful's take on IM. While the pictures are pretty amazing, the commentary has me in stitches.
Laughing at International Male: a great way to end a terrible day.
--amanda
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