“We are in the business of being women.”
DGGYST has been pretty heavy on the girl power lately. With “The Power of Female Economy“, and “So, You Want a Blogging Tip…“, not to mention the sidebar featuring specifically female bloggers, I have to address something that comes up every time I (or any one else for that matter) discuss supporting female industry. This sentiment:
“But I don’t like other women.”
I notoriously love the women. I was a labrador retriever in my last four lives and just assume everyone is my friend and they want to feed me biscuits.
Not that I haven’t not liked some women. There’ve been a few where I’m like, “You are not my kind of lady. Now give me a biscuit and get the hell out of here, bark bark bark bark bark!” So I respect that you may have had bad experiences that are skewed to the female gender.
Perhaps you have found other women to be largely competitive, shallow, two-faced, and smelly. I would never tell you that I know your experiences better than you do, and this post is not about bashing women who don’t like women. But I will tell you that not liking other women shouldn’t matter when it comes to throwing your unbridled support at them.
Continue reading ““But I Don’t Like Other Women” and Other Immaterial Things”
“There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help each other.”
If you have been following my blog for a while you know that I am a businesswoman. You also know that I was raised in the foster care system, that I ran away from home, and was a homeless teen.
I have experienced a level of poverty you would not think was possible in a first world country. I have lived in abandoned buildings in downtown Detroit and have feared for my life from things like exposure and starvation.
I have broken into cars to steal change to get my dinner from a vending machine. I have eaten from the garbage. I have been bound to horrible situations for the lack of financial independence. I have been dominated and violated and I have stayed in these situations…for a sandwich or a cold piece of pizza or for a warm place to sleep.
Needless to say I feel very powerfully about my right to support me and mine, and I feel very passionately about women having the right to support themselves and theirs.
You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I’m 29 and have so many commas in my bank account it would make your head spin. I have gone about acquiring stability in my life the same way I am making a living off of this blog: by unapologetically accepting that I need money and viciously defending my right to make it.
Continue reading “The Power of Female Economy”
The oldest thing I own is a piece of homework from 1st grade. It’s actually an entire booklet of paper bound in little plastic rings. “Tiara, Grade 1” is written in purple crayon across the construction paper cover.
God knows how I still have it. It has somehow weathered a hundred homes (and no home at all). I swear one day it will be archived as a religious script because of the shit it has endured. In the future, people will tell the miracle of how the little plastic-bound journal survived tornadoes, fire, and the summer my mom kept goats in the house.
There isn’t too much to report about the Holy Scripts. Mostly pictures of birds in the distance signified by “M”s, yellow sunshines and broccoli trees, but there is one very memorable entry:
My shit list. Well, my “shite” list. Apparently I was an Irish child.
Grade 1 and already making a shit list.
You see, there weren’t a lot of rules in my house. No curfews, no chores, no expectations of grades or school attendance, and the expletives were free to fly. Al Pacino and Eric Cartman screaming “God fucking damnit” echoed around my living room and Tony Montana himself might balk at the curse words that came out of my step dad’s mouth.
But there were two dirty words, so filthy that to speak them meant swift and violent retribution.
Those words were: “I’m sorry.”
Continue reading “My Apologies: Conquering the World One Sorry at a Time”
There is a vicious rumor going around that it’s the new year. Fake news strikes again. Sad.
Oh wait… Shit… It is the new year.
Well, I guess that explains the recent tsunami of articles about “How to Go to the Gym,” “How to Keep Going to the Gym,” “How to Get to the Gym,” “How to Stay at the Gym Once You Get There,” “How to Not Just Buy a T-Shirt From the Gym That Says, ‘Namasté Fit’ and Then Never Return,” etc.
Yes, people descend on the gym on new years like people descend on the grocery store at news of an approaching storm.
Sure, you don’t like spam or tofu flavored popcorn or the bench press but this is an emergency, goddamnit! You will pay the $9 for the blood sausage, the $90 a month for the gym membership, and you will just wait for the storm of expectation to pass.
Oh, fuck the gym. Fuck the gym so hard. (Note: my traffic soars any time I use the word “fuck” in the title of a post. “Fuck High Heels” is my most popular performing post by like a million disappointed perverts.)
My big new year’s truth bomb is pretty obvious, yet one of those things that is so easily forgotten:
exercise and the gym are not mutually exclusive.
Continue reading “Fuck the Gym”
Sometimes I read stuff like this article called “Why Pursuing Happiness is the Greatest Goal” and wonder why traditional advice doesn’t seem to apply to me.
I just absently blink at 90 percent of the “awesome truths” that “change people’s lives.” When I try to apply them to my own life, I end up totally dissatisfied, living in a yurt with a mouthful of chia seeds dribbling down my face, yelling positive affirmations into the mirror.
I’m pretty sure if there is anything that makes humans miserable, it’s chasing happiness.
Knowing that it’s The Goal of almost everyone I know is so tragic I can’t. Hardly. Even.
Before you get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with happiness…It’s just not a goal. And exalting one emotion doesn’t sit well with me
Continue reading “Today, Be Anything but Happy”
You know the ones. They all star this legless bald chick with an IQ of 70 and anorexia whose stepdad beats her but she ends up going to Harvard and winning Miss USA and running a marathon and then goes on to inspire other bald legless anorexics to achieve their dreams.
Does the Lifetime movie channel play in other countries besides America? Cause it’s so fucking “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps” American I could puke…and then make a hot chocolate and grab a box of kleenex and cry, “She’s. So-ooo. Ah…ma..ma..zing!” and then watch it again. Damn you, Lifetime movies!
I swear to God, this is the reason why we are all so crazy: the expectations. They are terrible. TERRIBLE!
This is coming from someone who is practically a walking talking lifetime movie.
Continue reading “Fuck Lifetime Movies”
This is going to come as a huge shock to you: I’m a fairly saucy woman. Spicy. A firecracker. A real pistol. An over-eater…wait, no, that doesn’t belong there.
I enjoy myself very much. I kick ass, take names, make sure those names are kicking ass, and make sure those asses are kicking names. What can I say, I’m thorough.
Being this way has its benefits. I set my mind to something and just…go. If there is something I want on the other side of a mountain, give me a shallow spoon and watch me tunnel, baby.
There is, however, a dark side to combining ambition, intense love, and brutal honesty.
The arson in me recognizes the arson in you
This post is for my warrior women. My Xenas. My tough mothers. Damn, you are sexy AF. I love powerful women. You bitches aren’t to be trifled with, and I couldn’t be a bigger fan. But chances are you aren’t being nearly as effective an ass-kicker as you could be because of one thing that often befalls the feisty:
Continue reading “The Art of Parting”
Damn, Girl has been growing a bit fast. OK, scary fast.
My little three-month-old blog is reaching toward fifteen hundred followers and tens of thousands of views. Companies are starting to contact me about promoting their shit. Every blogger’s dream, right?
But I am not writing this to brag. I am writing this because I’ve been getting dozens of emails asking for blogging tips… And apparently “day drinking” isn’t cutting it
So let me try and muster something better: Let’s start by knocking off that “I feel bad for promoting myself” shit.
I could tell you to “post pretty pictures” and “be patient” but those tips are everywhere and they are a lot easier than what you actually have to learn how to do:
As a blogger, you need to get comfortable with needing things. More than that, you need to get comfortable asking for those things that you need.
Continue reading “So, You Want a Blogging Tip…”
Today we are tackling a pretty heavy subject: spoiling your children.
Growing up, my mother used to frequently say, “Money is the source of all evil.”
Not only was money evil but it was a personality killer, a relationship ruiner, and a poison to all things good and decent and fluffy in the world. Because of this, there was quite a shortage of things in my house: running water, reliable electricity, food….
Continue reading “The Pride of Poverty and Spoiling Your Kids”