Watch your jewelry collection grow exponentially.

I don’t know how you expect me to lead a happy and fulfilled life after you’ve raised me.  I mean, you seriously effed my future in the following ways:

Look at this miserable kid and her 80s feminist mother. There was no hope for me from the get-go.

You taught me to rely on my brain. While other moms constantly spoke of their daughters’ beauty and stature, promoting their future roles as heart breakers and child bearers, you told me that I was more than what I looked like. That my skin wouldn’t be wrinkle-free forever and that gravity shows no mercy. Now instead of putting value exclusively in my cleavage or the interest of men, I take pride in my sense of humor, education, and general disposition.

How am I supposed to become an alcoholic Trophy Wife with those values, damn it?

You told me it was okay to be different. Even though you didn’t know what the hell I was talking about for half of my life, you nodded along and supported me and occasionally asked me to lower my volume. Where did that get me, Mom? Prom court? No. Cheerleader captain? Niet. Suffered a sophomore year pregnancy scare? Pssh.  Instead, I found writing and the theater geeks who laughed even louder than I did.

HAS THERE EVER BEEN A WEIRDO MISS AMERICA? I think not.

You never set limits for my future. The kids I grew up around had a ten-year-plan in middle school. They knew their eventual college, major, and sorority house. Planned engagements and weddings and baby names.  You didn’t care if I never lived within an hour of you for the rest of my life, if I got married, turned into someone else’s mother. I asked what you thought I should do with my life and you just told me to be myself and be happy. A lot of good that’s done.

I moved to a city that offered everything I ever wanted and found friends so amazing that they’ve become my family, too.  I never settled for what was comfortable or expected. I got two useless liberal arts degrees and perform comedy for no other reason than it makes me sublimely happy. How am I ever supposed to make enough money to satisfy my Chanel and Botox habit now, woman?

So, Mom, thanks for not showing me how to be a vapid, needy, cookie cutter woman with a collection of push-up bras and highlights.   I’ll never be satisfied living with a barrel-chested stock broker who makes life decisions for me. I’ll never get to cower and wonder how mad he’ll get if I spend his money on one more pair of shoes. I’ll never know when I’ve made it to the finish line because you never told me there was one.

Happy Mother’s Day. You deserve all the credit for making me the woman I am.

Kaitlin

I would also like to request that Ann Curry, Diane Sawyer, or Meredith Viera do the inevitable interview of my family and friends. Maybe Brian Williams. Definitely Colbert.

Harsh Critic of the Government

Heavy into Television

Anti-Women

Mournful of a Simpler America

You’re welcome, Liberal Media.

The only person you need to turn on is yourself, so just avoid mirrors until morning and you’ll be fine.

CON: There is no one to blame but yourself for a faulty alarm setting.

We’ve all been there. It’s just so much easier to make it into a fight you can have makeup sex over when you get home from work. Late, of course.

PRO: You can be as messy as you damn well please. 

When there’s no one to show off an apartment/bedroom/home to, there’s no one to judge your piles of dirty clothes, clean clothes, tissues, magazines, take-out boxes, or whatever else you’re too lazy to put in its place.

CON: You can be as messy as you damn well please.

When there’s no one to show off an apartment/bedroom/home to, it’s quite easy to live like an animal twelve-year-old boy.

PRO: Eat whatever you want, whenever you want.

Pizza on Monday  and Thursday and leftover pizza on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday? Have at it. No one but your waist line will mind. Ask for extra onions and anchovies, since you have no one to make out with anyway.

CON: No one will brave your germ-infested habitat to bring you soup when you’re sick.

Don’t worry, you have friends! Except, wait.  They like you, but they don’t like like you. If you still have working limbs you can make it or order it yourself.

PRO: No one will know what’s in your bathroom.

There is no need to hide prescription drugs, super absorbent tampons, hemorrhoid cream, beauty aides traditionally associated with the opposite gender, or hair removal products.

CON: There is no one around to respond to your calls when you’ve run out of toilet paper.

I don’t really need to paint a picture here, do I?

Likes: Working out 5 – 6 times per week, Crossfit, volunteering with various organizations, serving on the board of charities, clubbing.

Recently read: Law/finance textbook, Forbes, GQ.

Interested in: Intelligent, funny, down-to-earth girl with family values and an average body.

]]> http://alittlebitginger.com/2013/04/09/matchdotcom/feed/ 0 The Fabulous One http://alittlebitginger.com/2013/04/08/dopelganger/ http://alittlebitginger.com/2013/04/08/dopelganger/#comments Mon, 08 Apr 2013 15:25:59 +0000 Kaitlin http://alittlebitginger.com/?p=742 ]]> My coworkers seem to get me already. One of them spent Saturday evening bombarded with this ad on her What’s the Phrase marathon.

Apparently it’s me. Thanks, Zynga.

But then there are the times you should put the damn notebook down and live your life.

Improv class, for example, is not a time to take in-the-moment notes. You don’t need to carry it around the stage with you, marking each time someone points out the importance of Yes, and or paying attention to details. Those notes are taking you away from what’s important!

It’s not history class. Nothing that gets said will be on the exam. There is no exam. If you heard a great phrase, write it down during break. If you want to remember how an exercise made you feel, go over it in your head while you’re falling asleep. Write all of the words you can remember on your commute home for all I care, but don’t take yourself out of the moment.

Are you going to read over the novel of notes you wrote about patterns? I doubt it. Experiencing your improv class in real-time is what will ultimately make you an improviser people enjoy watching.

And thus, I end my rant.

Sometimes I think about quitting you, Internet. I finally get fed up with how much time we spend together, how much you let me tell the world. (You should really come with a breathalyzer.)

But then you put something beautiful in front of my face and I just have to have it.

That’s when I call my Internet therapist, Mr. Rebates. Well, I suppose he’s not so much a therapist as a sober coach, but the point is he has my back.

When I find something online that I want to spend my hard(ly) earned money on, I stop at Mr. Rebates first to check if he and my retailer are friends. He’s kind of a big deal, so lots of stores are in his network and offer cash back on your online purchases as long as you go through the Mr. Rebate portal. So, for every $20 I throw at QVC – don’t judge me – I get 80 cents (4%) in my Mr. Rebates account. It all adds up enough that I just got a check for nearly $80 for the shopping I (and the friends I’ve referred, since you get credit for their purchases, too) have done since January.

You can also use the Mr. Rebates portal to search for specific products and find the best deal from any of his pals across the interwebs. You can thank me later.

(Good news, y’all. Rebates and Baublebar are tight.)

I’ve never been one of those girls to plan her future wedding. Sure, I don’t want to die alone or anything, but marriage itself has never been that important to me. Even as a child, I remember wondering why a piece of paper had so much power. Other than pretty jewelry and an excuse to have a party, there has never been much pull towards a wedding for me.

But I at least have a choice.

I like men. I fall in love with them on occasion. I fall in lust with them frequently. These days, I probably couldn’t maintain a healthy relationship to save my life, but if I wanted to fly to Vegas and marry the first guy I saw walking down the street I could. It would be a celebration of the sanctimony of marriage: two strangers pledging their eternal devotion before a room full of drunk brides and shot-downing grooms waiting patiently for their own turn in front of Minister Elvis.

My best friends don’t have the same ability. They believe in the piece of paper because it validates their love not just in front of a god they might worship or a family who would do anything for their happiness, but by a government who is supposed to be of, by, and for the people. They want to legally care for their children as parents like any other, not like a single parent and a particularly close roommate. They want to enjoy the same shared benefits of a tax system based on family values. They want to hold their partner’s hand as he lay dying in a hospital bed.

If you won’t give my best friends the choice, then take mine away. Separate is not equal, so you’re going to have to make the decision one way or another.

]]> http://alittlebitginger.com/2013/03/26/on-marriage/feed/ 0 The Fabulous One http://alittlebitginger.com/2013/03/11/an-open-letter-to-taylor-swift/ http://alittlebitginger.com/2013/03/11/an-open-letter-to-taylor-swift/#comments Mon, 11 Mar 2013 18:58:22 +0000 Kaitlin http://alittlebitginger.com/?p=720 Continue reading →]]>

Dear Taylor,

I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I think it’s because I saw this coming. Perhaps not this, exactly, but a general event where your lack of humor and self-awareness collide.

Full disclosure: Tina Fey and Amy Poehler near the top of my Women to Emulate list (also, Leslie Knope but let’s leave that discussion for another time). Even if I wasn’t a pretend comedian, I would admire their eagerness to take on the Feminist label (unlike many others – notably) and tendency to run circles around their men counterparts with aplomb.

Taylor, you are clearly a talented woman. Your songs are so freaking catchy that  I even own a few…legally! But as someone who touts her freedom to write about whatever and whomever she wants – including thinly veiled melodic diatribes on famous exes – you’re not particularly good at taking a joke.

While hosting the Golden Globes, this happened:

Source: Buzzfeed

And your response in this month’s Vanity Fair? A preppy version of “Oh No She Di’nt.”

There’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.

Really, Taylor? Should we discuss your possible lady-bashing?

It’s fine for you not to agree with the best lady friends Hollywood has ever seen. And, sure, it sucks that your feelings were hurt. But guess what? Nothing they said had to do with you being a women. Nothing they said hurt your reputation. Nor did anything Michael J. Fox say or do necessitate a phone call…just to stop your bored-as-hell fans from harassing a Canadian-American treasure!

You know who is really good at taking a hit she thinks is BS? Amy. Take note. Also Tina. Give it a shot. I for one, will be using their example when the hate-tweets from your fans start rolling in.

Sincerely,

Kaitlin