This Question Needs to be Asked

WHY would there not be significant studies on how to make menstrual cramps go away? Seriously. This is a serious issue. Are scientists so sexist? Or is it the funders. Because, seriously, take an anti-inflammatory and get some rest is not helpful.

I feel like I should apologize to my male friends who read my blog, but then... they have not commented in eons so I'm assuming they got distracted by something shiny and no longer check their google reader or whatever, at least not for anything but the SomethingShiny blog they subscribe to. Also, why do they get to have an aversion to the topic? They don't even suffer actual pain over menstrual issues. And, no, buying tampons for your wife at the grocery store does not count.

So, seriously. I have checked a few of the more reputable online medical sources, and also wikepedia, and they both say there are not conclusive studies done on anything, really. I AM TELLING YOU, SCIENTISTS, FOR THE GOOD OF ALL MANKIND, FIND SOME ANSWERS. Because menstrual cramps equals cranky woman. And lots of cranky women equals lots of unhappy households and workplaces. I'm just saying. It's for your own health. Tell us how to make the pain stop.

And so help me, if you tell me to exercise through the pain, I'm going to have to hurt you. Because that is a lie propagated by stupid men and also women who don't get real cramps.

I'll Pre Exisiting Your Condition, Buddy.

I. Cannot. No. Words.

Okay, maybe just, are you freaking kidding me?

What kind of slimey... gits... were sitting around the table at the Insurance policy-making meeting and said, hey, you know what shouldn't be covered? Domestic Violence. Yeah. Good idea.

I'm Not QUITE There Yet...

So apparently they have a place for people who spend all their time online, not even breaking to bathe, and eating at their computers. Besides High School. And I am proud to say that I still bathe from time to time. Also that I hate computer gaming. It's stupid. Yeah, I said it. When it causes people to forget dates they have sheduled, therefore forcing the girl to break the cd in half (no, it wasn't me, and she may not have broken it, but it was seriously considered), it has gone too far. When families sit in different rooms of the same house and "play" with each other and "talk" to each other online, instead of breaking out the gameboard, or, I don't know, going outside and getting fresh air and talking about real life, it has gone too far. When you are a 30 year old man, and rather than, I don't know, asking a girl on a date (again, not my target male) you get together ten of your closest guy friends you never talk to in real life together so you can all do all your techy stuff and play your game cubes or whatever together for what I'm pretty sure stretches out to at least ten hours, it has gone too far. And when teenagers and adults alike refer to someone as their "friend" and then fully admit that they've actually never met that person, and don't know their real name, but they're sure they're "real," what with all the bonding they've been doing over the game, it has gone TOO far.

I'm not even cranky today. Apparently I can rant about anything. Give me a random topic. I will rant.

That's It. Employers Have Gone 'Round the Bend.

The good news is that all the crazies making odd business decisions are giving me plenty of fodder for my blog. With that said, I have to ask, what on earth is going on? Did you hear about this? Basically one lovely city has started requiring all your web membership info (MyFace, personal websites, online groups you belong to, etc), including password, so they can nose into your life. So many thoughts tumbling through my head.

First, this has got to be a violation somehow of some law that employers should be following. If it's not, it should be. They have no right to look in my personal accounts. If they can't find me using the handy, dandy cyber-stalking tools I've already told you about, then I say it's none of their business. If you are worried about character, check their references, call former employers, and do a background check. Novel concept. Having interviewed hundreds of volunteers, you can general identify the crazies right off the bat. And if they slip through, you have policies in place to catch the weirdness or prevent it.

Second, how do they know if you gave them all the info? if your settings are all to private on everything, and there are no real identifying features of where an account holder lives, it could be someone else with a similar name. So how do they know if you handed everything over? I personally might be hard-pressed to argue that if I attached both my names, but that's part of the reason I don't. I don't WANT to be found by certain people. Like crazies and potential employers. It's not because I do crazy things, or say inappropriate things, or have anything to hide. It's because I like to have a private life. My last boss knew I had a blog and could have cared less, since she has an aversion to all things computer-related. But she also knew I wasn't writing things that she needed to be concerned about.

Third, these people are idiots. And I'm glad I don't live there. And if this becomes a thing, someone better darn well sue and take it to the supreme court if they have to. I'm not okay with this.

There Are No Words...

Yet I will come up with some. I just read this article. My favorite part is "Anyway, you only need to look at the tags of clothes size 10 and 20 to see that the difference in cost – sometimes three or four dollars, sometimes 10 or 15 dollars, is being passed on to the plus-sized consumer."

Um, did I miss something? When did size 10 become plus size? What crack are these people smoking? And HOW on earth are they saving money by not serving the majority of American women? Do all the skinny girls have the money?

I fully acknowledge that 68% of American women being plus-sized is too many. That is another post, though. Beyond the fact that we have some serious health issues in this country, and that we all need to get our butts in gear, or at least I do, WE HAVE TO WEAR SOMETHING IN THE MEANTIME. Ridiculous. I love that at the bottom of the article they try to console us by pointing out that many of the stores will allow us to purchase their plus-sizes online, even if they won't stock them in the store. Totally good solution. Because women struggling with weight issues, and therefore generally more body flaws to try to camouflage and draw attention away from, should order things online. Looking at it on the size 0 model will give you a GREAT idea what it looks like. Or, if they have it on their size 10 "plus size" models (if they are even that big), that will also give plus size ladies a good idea.

Thank you, fashion world, for giving so many women such a boost. We feel fabulous.

Stupid Reasons Not to Read My Blog #2

"I don't read blogs." Possibly the stupidest reason I've ever been given for not reading my blog. What does that even mean? How rude is that?

That's It. No more!

From time to time, I am revolted by the way human beings can treat each other. I hear on the news every now and then how one human being tortured, killed, violated, or in some other way robbed another human being of their dignity, sanity, or even life. Those instances of violence repulse me, and are part of the reason I don't often watch the news. Really there is nothing I can personally do about the incident, and agonizing over the pain of those people, and poking into their private pain through the media, doesn't really help anyone. But some things that happen in the world are just so wrong, and so damaging, that I wonder if there isn't something we, as human beings, should be doing, instead of standing by and shaking our heads and turning the channel. I have run across a couple stories on cnn.com in the last few weeks that have left me dumbstruck.

One horrifying incident that caught my attention was the stoning of a thirteen year old girl in Somalia. This girl told officials in her area that she had been raped by three men, and as a result, she was dragged, screaming for mercy, to a "killing hole," burried up to her neck, and stoned to death by fifty men while a thousand specators looked on (according to un.org) for being an adulterer. Oh, and the rapists weren't charged.

The second incident happened in Afghanistan. School girls walking to school Wednesday morning were sprayed with water pistols full of acid on their way to school. It seems that in this particular area, girls did not attend school for from 1996-2001, because the area was ruled by the Taliban during that time, and girls were denied education. It's believed that the men who squirted acid on the girls were Taliban militants. At least two of the girls are blind as a result of the attack.

I've actually been thinking about this post for several weeks now, because there are no words. I started out by thinking these were crimes against women, and that this was a hideous pattern involving the women of our world not receiving the respect and honor that they should. While I know those circumstances exist, I realized that this is something else, equally repulsive and appalling. These are CHILDREN. School girls. The girl who was stoned was 13. The schoolgirls burned by acid were probably about that same age. All I can think to write is, what is WRONG with people. While researching the two incidents, I've come to a realization. What I realized was that none of us like to hear about these incidents. They are unpleasant, and they make us feel uncomfortable and powerless. I believe that this is part of the reason we don't hear much about them. Maybe this is naive of me, but what if we all paid attention? If this were something that we as human beings cared about and and vigilently opposed, wouldn't the people in power do something about it? Wouldn't it become a priority to them? Shouldn't we do something?

How to Win a Fight (in your head)

It's important to have a method for coping with immense rage. I recommend composing an angry letter or giving an angry lecture. The key is to not deliver the letter or the lecture. Just compose it. Save the email to draft or delete it, or rip up or burn the letter. Give the lecture in your head to the imaginary version of the offender.

If you do compose the letter or give the lecture out loud, I recommend doing it in your car when you are alone. Be prepared to accept that the people in the cars around you might come to the conclusion that you are just a touch crazy. If you have a bluetooth, first of all I will mock you mercilessly, but this might convince people that you are, in fact, not yelling at thin air or an imaginary friend in the passenger seat.

If you are composing your lecture or letter in your head, I recommend the gym. Not only does the rage make you want to run faster or punch harder, but you can put your adrenaline to good use, and at the end you have this wonderfully release of endorphins to bring you back to your happy place.

There are benefits to using these methods. First, you get in less fights. By not actually yelling at people, you keep more friends. Second, you work out a super good argument for when you do sit down and have a calm, rational discussion about how you are right and they are wrong. You have prepared yourself for every scenario by duking it out in your head, and can therefore help them see the error of their ways more quickly and cheerfully. Third, less injuries occur. You have worked out your aggressions ahead of time so you are not forced to cause them bodily injury for their stupidity.

Fester, Fester, Fester

I'm festering.* Someone made a comment the other day about how sheltered I am the other day, and it really irked me. This Someone is someone who goes to my church. When it's someone who was not raised in the conservative religious environment I was raised in, receiving the label "sheltered" does not bother me too much. I think the real reason this comment bothered me was because the person who made the comment doesn't know anything about my past and what I have or have not done, or what my opinion is on most subjects. That would involve hanging out with me and trying to get to know me. But that's a bitter subject for another day.

So is "sheltered" a good label? I know that some Mormons wear the label with pride, because what people are really referring to is the experiences we have not had by virtue of living our religion, such as not drinking, smoking, doing drugs, or having sex outside of a marital relationship. I can understand why to some people this makes us seem very sheltered and set apart from reality. I'm okay with that. There are some realities I don't want to live. I've seen the pain, drama, and health issues that accompany a lot of those things. But that doesn't mean I don't KNOW things. For example, as someone who has never been drunk, I can still observe the effects of alcohol on my friends, and some of the difficult situations they have found themselves in due to their inebriation and loss of inhibitions. No, I haven't experienced it firsthand, but you learn things from experiencing them secondhand, too. And I've read books and articles, and studied things, and watched movies about issues, and all that good stuff. So perhaps I know more than you think I do.

So, if I don't think a conversation you are trying to have with me is appropriate, it's not necessarily because I don't understand the topic. I am curious about a lot of things, and like to understand different perspectives and what life experiences make people the way they are. If you are going to start being crude, juvenile, or base in your conversation, I might be disgusted, and ask you to stop or leave the room. You may think having giggly conversations about mature topics makes you mature. I respectfully disagree.

Me? Cranky?


* see: French Kiss, with Meg Ryan-- Fester, fester, fester. Rot, rot, rot.

Someone Didn't Get the "It's All About Me" Memo

You know how they say that the qualities that drive you crazy most in other people are often qualities you yourself possess? Well, I had a conversation today that is a prime example of this. Someone I know was complaining to me that certain people never thank her or appreciate her for what she does for them. This is the conversation we had in my head:

Her: It's just irritating that I do so much for them and they don't even seem to notice.
Me: Ah, like when you don't notice how much I do for you!
Her: I just don't see the point of doing all this work when it's not bringing me joy in life and they're not even appreciating all my work.
Me: Like you.
Her: They have no clue how hard I work for them.
Me: Like you.

This probably means that I don't appreciate people for all the hard work they do in my behalf and that I never say thank you, doesn't it? It's a vicious circle.

I Don't Want to be Your Groupie.

On my list of pet peeves, group messages, whether they be emails or texts, rank far up there. You know who you are. Actually you don't read my blogs, which only adds to my ire for you. Group messages say to me, "You are not high enough on my priority list to send you personalized messages. I have nothing to say to you that I wouldn't say to my mother, little brother, that creepy guy who keeps hitting on me, the guy who dumped me, the old roommate I hated, and my 8 year old niece. I have so many more important things in my life, and am sooooo much more busy than you." That message is not a warm fuzzy one. You may have noticed I rarely reply to your group messages.

You will notice that while I have been known to send a group email in the past, it is generally a "hey, give me your address" at Christmas, because it didn't occur to you to tell me when you moved, or a "hey, here's my new address," because it DID occur to me to tell you. Or it was a "look at this neat get-to-know-you list forward," which you might have noticed I have discontinued sending, after one of my oldest friends made a snarky remark to me about how the only emails he gets from me are forwards. That's right, Portland Boy, I'm talking about you. Instead I post those on my blog. The only group emails, besides the random big announcement emails (if you've just had a baby, I fully accept that I am lucky to get any notice, because I would be lying in bed like a big baby, staring at my little baby and trying not to move), that I find acceptable, are group conversations, like, "hey, everyone, how do we want to celebrate Holli's birthday? " Those kind are acceptable. Group texts saying Merry Christmas are just silly. Because obviously you were not thinking of me, you were button happy and decided as you scrolled through your contacts that I meritted a group text. Which, wow. I'm so special. I feel all warm and fuzzy. A few years ago I may not have realized it was a group text. But now I'm onto you. And you are fired. I have never sent you a group text, bucko.

You Shouldn't Be at the Gym If...

1. You spend the whole time on the stair climber and tread mill talking on your phone and totally not out of breath, because your heart rate is, in fact, not raised.
2. You are wearing high heel boots while you do weights.
3. You are in full makeup and your hair is perfectly in place. Because you are obviously not there in search of the perfect body. At least not YOUR perfect body.
4. You leave the gym and proceed to smoke a cigarette before entering your car. Yeah, let's keep our body fat and cholesterol low so we can better enjoy the effects of the lung cancer or emphysema we've long been dreaming of (yes, I know, some of you are smokers... I'm a judger. I judge. That's what I do).
5. You are crabby and your mp3 player dies, leaving you with no other option but to pick apart every other gym patron. Yeah. Me. That's Right.

I'm Thirsty.

Because I just ran 2 miles. Also, I'm irritated. Because while I was running on the tread mill, they were airing Girls Next Door. And not just any Girls Next Door. The one that involves shooting naked pictures of several girls for pretty much the whole episode. I do not need to see that much boob and butt. I don't care if some of it is blurry. Girls with clothes on that look that good while I'm at the gym make me cranky. The naked ones should not be allowed. Also it's kind of inappropriate in that venue.

Don't Make Me Ring the Bell

You know how there are certain smells that you can smell, and they take you back to a specific time and place in your life, and you feel all those emotions again? Same thing with sounds. Have you ever heard your old ringtone for your cellphone and remembered exactly what was going on in your life when you had it?

I got a little Cinnaberry tree freshener for my car the other day. You know, because my car smelled like feet. Or possibly a dead animal that had crawled up under my seat and died. And the moment I freed it from it's little package and I caught a wiff of that scent, it took me back to a certain time in my life, when certain people were in my life. I always liked that air freshener. But now it reminds me of the people that were in my life then that are no longer. Not because they died or anything. But because I can't get them to answer a freaking email, not to mention call me. Also because they think they are too busy to keep in touch. Which I have to say is just a slightly politer way of telling a person that on your list of priorities, they don't rate.

But never you fear. I will create new memories with my Cinnaberry car freshener. But only people who answer emails are allowed in my car. Because I can only recreate the Cinnaberry feeling so many times. Don't make me ring the bell.

Just Give Up Now

So my gym has been dead the whole month of December. Now there are a bunch of chubby middle age people. Which, yeah, they're totally my people. There were not very many muscled tan boys strutting around checking each other out like they wanted to date each other. And I didn't experience the simultaneous head turn of every guy in the weights section as I went up the stairs to the tread mills. Probably because the men there tonight were trying not to sprain something. I think I saw a few limps, though, so some of them did not succeed. I, on the other hand, channelled the rage of all the stupid boys wandering around by the treadmills NOT exercising, watching the little boys play basket ball through the window above the basketball gym, watching ESPN, and probably also noting that I got much back, and that it jiggles. As a result, I had a very good run. The rage flowed.

My coworker was telling me today that they say that many of those resolutionaholics are actually coming to the gym on special six week contracts they got for Christmas. So by mid-february they should all be gone. Then it will be back to the regular crowd of strutters, the girls who "work out" with them, and a few of us chubby people. Home, sweet home.

Sometimes I Go Mute

When I'm really, really mad, or something makes me really, really sad, I stop talking. Many of you have experienced this. This is especially common if I think that talking will cause the person(s) involved to say something further to make me really, really, really mad or really, really, really sad. Apparently some people talk more in these situations.

Example of anger: When I was working at the warehouse as a line supervisor, the supervisor directly above me was driving me crazy. I was venting to my friend, the other line supervisor. And apparently, Dude moves fast. Because all the sudden he was standing there, and neither of us had seen him come through the huge warehouse room we were sitting in. And the vent came to an abrupt stop, and I got very, very quiet. Fortunately he was calm, and he kinda smiled and said "This'll be good," and sat down and waited for me to spit it out. If you approach me very calmly like that, sometimes I speak. Unless I just don't want to talk about it ever. I told him my beef in a very quiet, even voice (another indicator that I am angry), and he actually took it fairly well. I will never forget that moment when I saw him and he was like, "this'll be good." Oops.

Actually that wasn't the best example of anger because there was much vocalizing right before. A real example would be one where I can't find my vocal chords at all. Which happens.

You Know What Irritates Me?

People who tell me they won't ready my blog because they only do MySpace. You know who you are. And you aren't reading this so I can talk smack.

I guess you'll just miss out on the wonder that is my blog.

Ways I Deal With Stress

Number one on the Ways I Deal With Stress list is cleaning. I had a roommate in college who would joke about taking cover if she came home to find a sparkling clean apartment. Cleaning sometimes calms my rage. Something about having order in my life. I'm thinking I need to get good and angry so I can find that Netflix DVD.

The Wrath of Holliberry

There are one or two things in life that make me truly angry.

1. Lying. I would not advise lying to me. It invokes in my a white hot rage. Not the kind of rage that might entertain certain people who think it's fun to tease me. The kind that makes you wonder why I am so calm... and why it is freaking you out.

2. Conversations between people that involve the phrase "we won't tell Holliberry because it will upset her/make her angry/ crush her soul." Because usually it's just that the parties involved just don't want to deal with my reaction, be it anger or irritation or whatever. Plus they usually don't know my heart as well as they think.

Example: I had not so much even a crush, but a bond with a boy in my school days. My roommate knew it was not a real crush, because she knew the actual boy I had been crushing on all year. After I graduated the past roommate went on a date or two with said male friend. In a conversation between one of my closest friends and this roommate during a chance meeting on campus, it was decided that the roommate should not tell me they had gone on a date, because "it would upset me." Apparently the two of them decided it would be irreversibly damaging to my psyche. Which it totally wouldn't have. It was actually more upsetting to me that they thought I was sitting at home pining over this guy who was definitely not pining over me, and that I was so pathetic I had all my hopes pinned on a relationship that clearly would never happen, where no feelings had been declared on either side, and where the boy was never interested in me and never would be as anything more than a friend. (Not a problem, I had other boys to crush on.) Because apparently I'm dumber than I thought, and they saw the true me, the one who was delusional about love and must be protected lest we have to put her in straight jacket or lock her in a tower and hope she doesn't burn the house down or something. And I'm pretty sure the boy was under orders not to tell me, too. Which, hello, ego much to buy into the idea that I was all the sudden desperately in love with him?

I hate that feeling when you have a very clear sense that the person or group of people you just had a conversation with had mapped it out in advance in order to "handle" you. I don't like to be handled. It makes me cranky and brings out my stubborn streak. And last I checked I don't generally fly into rages, and I rarely break down into tears (if you disagree with that, you're probably the one person who has seen more tears fall out of my ducts than you might have thought humanly possible. Most of you have rarely seen me cry- crying over math tests doesn't count).

How about you? Do you want them to keep it from you or tell you? See the little comments option down there? You should use that... Then I'll know if anyone's actually ever going to read my blog.