welcome to the queerdom

So you know those news stories about how Millennials don’t buy enough breakfast cereal or paperback books or homes or whatever the hell that Boomers are complaining that “kids these days” don’t spend money on?  And y’all are like “LOL, no cash my pal”?  

I think there’s something more insidious going on.  You see, they thought they had you.  Forget the Saturday morning cartoons of my childhood, they had Disney Channel and Nickelodeon feeding you ads all day long.  Your generation got advertising in your schools.  Your parents took you to prosperity doctrine spewing MegaChurches (it’s Mega so it’s gotta impress the kids, right?).  

They thought you were going to be their generation of super-consumers.  

You are generations distant from the great depression, and the 1979 energy crisis.  Boomers want to pretend that the 2008 housing bubble wouldn’t affect the little kids.  And plus, we had grown past the era of Yankee thrift and hippie DIY frugality.  Right?  And there was no mopey Kurt Cobain glamorizing thrift-store flannel shirts.  You guys were going to out-consume the Boomer generation.  They were sure of it.

Those think pieces?  They’re Boomer disappointment that you have found value in something other than your place as a mindless consumer.

And yeah, I’m not going to pretend that y’all have more cash than you do.  It was fucking idiotic to think they were going to raise a consumer generation without having to pay them the money they would need to buy even life’s necessities.  And I could write a book about how my generation was complicit in destroying the old values around work and loyalty that left your generation screwed.  Really, I’m genuinely sorry for the mistakes we made.

How was this not required before?? 

“You have to place an order a week ahead via a slip, and if there’s a mistake anywhere along the way, which is fairly common, you just don’t get your items,” Bozelko says. On top of that, she notes that most women in prison are poor or have no access to their funds outside of prison, and ordering pads and tampons can be incredibly expensive.“There’s a shortage of prison jobs, and even if you get one, you earn about 75 cents a day,” Bozelko says. “So to have to spend $2.34 for 24 pads is a quarter of your weekly paycheck, keeping in mind that you’d also have to buy soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and all the other hygiene items that are basic to human existence.”

“There’s a constant negotiation with COs to get menstrual health supplies. “You’d ask a CO for pads or tampons and he would ask you questions like, ‘How long have you been bleeding? Didn’t I give you a pad yesterday? How long is this one going to last?’” Bozelko says. “It shouldn’t be shameful—it’s a natural bodily function—but it’s embarrassing to be required to disclose this kind of information and negotiate just to get the supplies you need to stay clean every month.”

Bozelko also says she believes that keeping menstrual health products—and bodily sanitation in general—just out of reach of prisoners was often used as a psychological control tactic.“If I saw it once, I saw it 35 times that someone would say to a CO, ‘I don’t have anything, I’m gonna bleed right through my clothes,’ and he’d say, ‘Go ahead, bleed right through your clothes, I don’t care.’ …Then when women did bleed through, which did happen frequently, the guards would make fun of her for it. It was really just a set-up to treat women poorly.”

Every book is a children’s book if the kid can read.

I would like to have a product that was available for three easy payments and one fuckin’ complicated payment. We can’t tell you which payment it is, but one of these payments is gonna be a bitch! The mailman will get shot to death, the envelope will not seal, and the stamp will be in the wrong denomination! Good luck, fucker! That last payment must be made in wampum!

One time, this guy handed me a picture of him, he said “Here’s a picture of me when I was younger.” Every picture is of you when you were younger. “Here’s a picture of me when I’m older.” “You son-of-a-bitch! How’d you pull that off? Lemme see that camera… What’s it look like? ”

An escalator can never break, it can only become stairs. You would never see an “Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order” sign, just “Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience.

I play golf. I’m not good at golf, I never got good. I never got a hole-in-one. But I did hit a guy. And that’s way more satisfying. You’re supposed to yell “Fore!” but I was too busying mumbling “There ain’t no way that’s gonna hit him.”

- “Tennis is depressing because no matter how good you get, you will never be as good as a wall”

“If I gave you a bowl of skittles and three of them were poison would you still eat them?”

“Are the other skittles human lives?”

“What?”

“Like. Is there a good chance. A really good chance. I would be saving someone from a war zone and probably their life if I ate a skittle?”

“Well sure. But the point-”

“I would eat the skittles.”

“Ok-well the point is-”

“I would GORGE myself on skittles. I would eat every single fucking skittle I could find. I would STUFF myself with skittles. And when I found the poison skittle and died I would make sure to leave behind a legacy of children and of friends who also ate skittle after skittle until there were no skittles to be eaten. And each person who found the poison skittle we would weep for. We would weep for their loss, for their sacrifice, and for the fact that they did not let themselves succumb to fear but made the world a better place by eating skittles.

Because your REAL question…the one you hid behind a shitty little inaccurate, insensitive, dehumanizing racist little candy metaphor is, IS MY LIFE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF MEN, WOMEN, AND TERRIFIED CHILDREN…

OBGYN: Yeah, you are exhibiting all the signs of Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. I’m so sorry.

Me: Huh? Oh, yeah. Insulin resistance, impossible weight loss, pre-disposition to type II diabetes, painful AF periods. Likelihood of bleed outs. Crap. That blows.

OBGYN: Yeah, well that too.

Me: *blinks* What?

OBGYN: Well, PCOS makes it very difficult for a woman to conceive and carry.

Me: BWHAHAHAHA. Yeah. No. No babies. Ever. Never wanted them. At all. Maternal instinct is not strong with this one. Only upside today.

OBGYN: Well then. Not exactly problem solved, but we’ll run with it.

Me: So about the MIND-SEARING PAIN and occasional HEAVY AF BLEEDING. When can we deal with that.

OBGYN: Not until you are 35.

Me: Dah fuq?

OBGYN: Not my rules. Hospitalization won’t even consider any treatment unless it’s life or death until you’re 35.

Me: Why?

OBGYN: Because you might want to have a baby.

Me: I’m 31. I didn’t want kids when I was 11, I didn’t want them at 21, and I sure as shit don’t want them now. Can’t I just sign a form that says “I don’t ever want a baby take it out, take it out now”?

OBGYN: Nope.

Me: Why?

OBGYN: Government rules. No removal of baby making parts before 35 unless your life is in immediate jeopardy.

If you’re in the US and your OBGYN says “government says no,” look for a new one because they lied to you. If your OBGYN says that “hospital says no,” look for a new one because this one doesn’t respect your bodily autonomy. It is true that most surgeons don’t like to perform hysterectomies until you’re in your late 30s at the earliest, but a respectful surgeon will listen to their patient and not just write them off. Sexism in hospitals is alive and well- and it’s not just anecdotal evidence. There’s been a history of looking at it academically/professionally since the 70s (look into Mary Halas as a good place to start if you’re curious), and it crops up all the time in articles in the Journal of Women’s Health and Women’s Health Issues, and the International Journal of Women’s Health all of which are peer-reviewed, well-respected medical journals. It’s absolutely a real thing.