A.N

Hey boos! This one is kind of going to be a bummer, OK? We’re going to talk about what you should do when something really bad happens to someone you care about. I’m specifically talking about the Care and Feeding of Grieving People, but I think a lot of these things also hold true when someone receives really bad news of most any kind. (Except the one about going to the funeral, but there are other ways to show up for people, so maybe even that one counts.) It’s hard to know what to do when someone we love is facing something awful. We don’t want to do the wrong thing or get in the way, or we want to help but don’t know how to, or we face a huge flood of fear and sadness that feels hard to push away long enough to be supportive, or they don’t seem to want or need help. But there are some ways that you can be present and supportive. (This poem, “What I Learned from My Mother,” is totally the jam on this subject.)

I always write from my own experience, so I know you might not agree. That’s okay! But here are five things to consider when you’re faced with the challenge of graciously supporting a loved one.

1. It’s totally fine to say “I’m sorry,” even if that’s all you know to say.

I know that “I’m so sorry” feels pretty contrived at this point, but it works. Maybe steer clear of trying to make them feel better, because as much as you want to, you probably can’t. There really isn’t a right, perfect thing to say. Isn’t that terrible? Isn’t that sort of the worst part? You can’t fix it. No one can.

So trying to say something else will probably fall flatter than “I’m sorry” ever would. Avoid making comparisons to your own experience, too. It’s hard not to do that, but there are very few situations where it’s really appropriate or comforting. For a long time I had a huge chip on my shoulder — and no, I’m not proud of this, but it’s part of what grieving has been for me — about what it would mean to be understood. I was not really interested in hearing from anyone who had not lost a parent when they were young. It just didn’t help me, as well-meant as it was. Just say you’re sorry, listen, and validate. Nothing more is needed.

2. You should send a card to someone who’s grieving. You might want to buy some not-ugly ones to keep on hand.

Sympathy cards might feel weird to send, but I promise you they’re almost always appreciated. You don’t have to write something long. Something like “Dear Simone, I was so sorry to hear about your mom’s death. I’m sending you all of my good wishes for gentle comfort in the days and weeks to come. Love, Simone.” You don’t have to try to understand, and you don’t have to offer a shitty platitude about the universe or about how things happened. If you want, you can write to me and I will help you draft a note!

And you don’t have to settle for the butt-ugly cards that Hallmark sells. I like ones that don’t say much other than “with sympathy.” Because being a li’l orphan has given me a kind of morbid (?) mindset, I actually buy nice sympathy cards when I see them so I can send something thoughtful when I need to. Here, I found a few for you. Nice blank cards or notepaper are fine, too. I just find the Greeting Card Industrial Complex ones to be really cloying.

3. Ask how you can help, but be prepared to just do something without being directed.

This is so tricky, because your instinct will be to say something like, “Please let me know if I can help,” and you’ll totally mean it but there’s a really good chance that your grieving friend is not capable of telling you what you could do to help. On the other hand, you also don’t want to do something not helpful (like send a lovely bouquet to someone with mad flower allergies). There are things that you can do, though, without being asked, which will probably be appreciated. Anything that helps a grieving person take care of herself — literally take care of her person — is a winner.

A gift certificate for meal delivery service or a gift card to a place with prepared foods (Whole Foods?) is really nice. I actually had people bring me bags of groceries a couple times — healthy stuff AND treats — which was good because I was subsisting on cigarettes and Diet Coke. I’m sort of obsessed with Edible Arrangements because if someone had sent me a basket of pre-cut fruit when I was sulking around in my dead mother’s muumuu, I probably would have eaten a little better.

Offering to clean a room or rooms in their home or to run a load of laundry or to walk their dog can also be really helpful. Offering to spend low-key time with them — going for a walk, having a cup of tea — in a specific, time-limited way can also be good. Being specific matters — offer a specific day/time or a couple options. When you’re in a crisis it can be so hard to make decisions about little things.

4. You should probably go to the funeral.

Put some nice clothes on and go to visiting hours or shiva or the funeral. That you did so will be remembered, I promise. I can imagine some folks who really can’t do this — really, really can’t — and that’s fine, but if there is any way you can gather up all your courage to go, it helps. It helps a lot for someone to turn around and see a community of people behind them on what might be one of the worst days they’ll ever have. If you’re nervous because you don’t know enough about whatever religious ritual you might have to participate in, do a little research first. I promise you you won’t embarrass yourself, though.

5. Don’t disappear.

Sometimes stepping back after the immediate events that follow a death or crisis makes sense — you’re not gonna get up in your HR manager’s grill a couple months after her mom dies, you know? But if we’re talking about a friend, don’t disappear. They may not know how to respond in a gratifying way for a while, but they need you. It never bothered me when someone left me a message saying “HAY GIRL, just thinkin’ of you, you don’t have to call me back unless you feel like it.” And sometimes someone offering to take me for a walk was an almost-literal lifesaver. Grief is very lonely, even if we all face it — it feels very, very singular and very alienating. Lots of crises do, actually. And if you can keep reaching out, you can help make it feel a little less lonely.

Previously: Don’t Do This No. 2: Validating With Purpose.

Simone Eastman is a cat lady.

While visiting my friend in Charlottesville last week I noticed her wrapping her cheese in this super design-y Cheese Storage Paper by Formaticum. The two-ply paper allows cheese to breathe while maintaining optimal humidity preventing the cheese from drying out. Love that they include a video on how to perfectly wrap your cheese on their product page:

Respect your cheese!

"Ugh." 

 

Shakespeare: Oh, I have not a stinking clue by what means I create or recreate these adventures that live inside my soul. I stare at these cursed pages and think, who-ever told me I should compose even the dung-heaps of words such as I have done? Once in a fit of despair I ate all the Shrewsbury cakes Anne had but recently baked. They did not assist me. 

•••

James Joyce: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man? I worked for five years on a novel about that moo-cow. I thought that was the story! [Chuckles.] I still think that had some of my best work. Ah, but that moo-cow, he well and truly lived. 

•••

Interviewer: Do you ever experience self-doubt about your work? 

Kurt Vonnegut: Many times I've attempted to drown myself in my bathtub because who in blazes would care about my weird time-traveling spacey fiction? I can't ever do it, though, you tried doing that? Self-drowning, I mean. Harder than it looks. So I towel off and call an old pal—yeah, I've got a couple of those, but only a couple—and we go out to a hole in the wall and drink all the Scotch and he's like, "Remember Slaughterhouse-Five? You've done this before, now stop whining like a little girl." And I'm all, "You're right, ol' pal." But secretly I'm like, "Oh, shit." [Sighs deeply, which turns into a hacking cough.] 

•••

Emily Dickinson: It’s like I forget how to put words together sometimes, you know? Like, do these even make sense anymore? So I think, fuck it, I’ll add a shit-ton of dashes. And now it’s, like, my thing. Someone's going to figure out that I don't know what I'm doing at some point, right? 

•••

Interviewer: What’s your typical writing day like? 

Eudora Welty: Oh, my, let me think. I invariably begin my day by Googling “what if I have no more good ideas and there's no point in my writing.” Then I spend a good two hours gazing at the latest draft of a story. I will dislike it, sometimes violently. Then I’ll recall a music video I used to enjoy, perhaps that one by Heart, and I have simply no choice but to find it on Youtube. Finally, I spend about fifteen minutes laying words down slowly and painfully, like a bricklayer who’s plumb forgotten how to lay bricks. And then I take a lovely nap right on my keyboard. [Chuckles delicately] Right on it! 

Watch German baritone Michael Volle sing the Wagner aria “Song to the Evening Star” from Tannhäuser while undergoing a MRI scan.

(via)

In celebration of his exit from the 2016 presidential race, and by request, here is a more-or-less complete collection of all the horrible ways I’ve described Ted Cruz during the campaign (plus a couple bonus bits from 2013, when Whatever readers awarded him the title of Asshole of the Year, besting other luminaries such as Rob Ford, Justin Bieber, and, yes, Barack Obama).

Ted Cruz is:

• a malignant teratoma with a law degree
• a shambling assemblage of skin tabs and ego
• a gross and despicable avulsion that yet managed to sprout opposable thumbs
• a jowly gobbet of tubercular phlegm
• the Platonic ideal of an asshole
• a necrotic self-regarding blight on the face of American politics
• an odious fistula that walks the earth in a human skin
• Newt Gingrich minus the charm or political savvy
• the final obnoxious form of a college dorm “Devil’s Advocate”
• a bipedal mound of pig offal that yet manages to form words
• an overripe pustule of hateful need who deserves to be dropkicked into historical oblivion
• a political dead man walking

Goddamn, I will miss him. But not enough to want him back. Ever.

Update: It’s been noted I forgot I also called Cruz an “ambulatory cloacal splotch.” Duly noted!

8:30 am
Me: [opening up laptop]
The Internet: You should check me before you start writing. 
Me: We’ve been over this. First I write, then I check you. There’s no emergency happening.  
T.I.: That you know of. 
Me: Someone would have called me. 
T.I.: Unless they’re all dead. I mean probably they’re not all dead. It’s fine if you don’t check first. Maybe. 
Me: Just give me an hour, Internet. A lousy hour. 

8:35 am
T.I.: I don’t see why it would hurt if you check your email, at least. 
Me: Jesus. 
T.I.: Because let’s say one of your friends had an emotional crisis at 3 am and sent you a heartfelt note and all they want is some confirmation from you that they’re as loved as they secretly fear they’re not, and your silence is just making them worse and worse and who knows what’ll happen next? 
Me: I…I’m neglecting my loved ones with my selfish wordsmithing? 
T.I.: You said that. For the record, I never said that. 
Me: FINE. 

10:00 am
T.I.: Anything important going on there? 
Me: You know perfectly well that I got a Zara sales email and then I went onto the Zara site and fell down a wormhole of trying to find the saddest-looking Zara model I could find and also I remembered that they had some bad labor practices so I had to look that up too. 
T.I.: So: not a waste of time, then. You could use that for something in the future. 
Me: What in holy hell are you on, Internet. 
T.I.: I’m just saying, it’s all material. Everything is material. Didn’t some writer say that? I bet you could find that quote on — 
Me: You shut up now. You shut right up. 

10:07 am
T.I.: DONALD TRUMP IS DOING SOMETHING
Me: … 
T.I.: PROBABLY. PROBABLY DONALD TRUMP IS DOING SOMETHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT
Me: It can wait.
T.I.: CAN IT? Listen: you think the story you’re writing is terrible and I’m not saying you’re right but you’re probably right and also you could write a funny tweet about Donald Trump and then you could check and recheck to see how many people liked it and you wouldn’t feel so tiny and insignificant in this world with your dumb stories that no one is reading because you keep them in a folder on your laptop and you don’t put them on meeee
Me: Get a hold of yourself. 

10:15 am
T.I.: You’ll Never Believe What’s In Your Water Bottle (And It’s Not BPA!) 
Me: What? 
T.I.: You’re not going to believe it
Me: Would you lay off? I’ve written 75 words. My daily quota is 2,000. 
T.I.: That’s fine, writing is more important than life and well-being and stuff. You only gave your kid the same water bottle oh and you’re definitely going to forget all about this in five minutes and you’ll never remember to find out about the Secret Ingredient That Could Kill You All, oh and guess who's a secret twin, and have you seen that video of the mangy kitten being rescued by a bear who's on a dolphin's — 
Me: [turns off wifi] 

10:35 am
T.I.: Psst. 
Me: What the hell? 
T.I.: Over here. 
Me: I turned you off,  you sick— 
T.I.: Your phone, baby. I’m still on your phone. LTE. 
Me: Oh god. 
T.I.: How many words you write? 378? That’s an amazing number! That’s almost 20% of your daily quota, and the day has barely begun. See? You don’t need to get rid of me forever, just for a few minutes. I bet there are tons of writers who write for like 15 minutes and then spend a couple of hours checking me out and then go back to writing for another maybe 10 minutes and BAM look at that, they wrote a bestseller. 
Me: I sincerely doubt—
T.I.: Google it.
Me: I don’t need to— 
T.I.: You won’t because you know I’m right. Google it google it googlegooglegoogle
Me: You’re killing me. I’m moving to a cave. 
T.I. Ooh, good idea! Let’s look up “writing caves.” 
Me: [rage-Googles “writing caves” and “writers who live in caves” and “how to write despite the Internet”] 

6:00 pm
Me: [looking up] What the hell…? 
T.I.: You should really manage your time better. Oh by the way here’s your Facebook wall, covered with news about your friends who are all publishing their ninth bestsellers. It's too bad you're not doing that.

Me: I hate you so much. 
T.I.: There, there. Here, look at this celebrity who ate a vegetable all weird.  

 

 

It’s early March, and I know I’m super late to the party talking about the best movies of last year (although the Oscars were just last weekend), but I wanted to say a bit about my favorite movie of 2015 – Magic Mike XXL.

This may seem a strange choice for me, given that I love classic literature and Golden Age British mysteries, and have never been to a strip club in my life. I should be more into Far from the Madding Crowd, or The Danish Girl, or some historical drama, right? (Note: I might like these two movies, if I’d seen them, which I haven’t.)

I saw Magic Mike last July when the rest of my family was traveling in Europe. Many of my online friends had raved about it, so I went to see it just before Independence Day weekend to see what all the fuss was about. The theater was packed with women of all ages, a few of them with husbands or boyfriends in tow. I didn’t really know what to expect.

And…it was magical. Very little actually *happens* in this movie – it’s just a road trip from Tampa to Myrtle Beach for a group of ex-male strippers, intent on giving their last hurrah at a stripping convention before they move on with their lives. But it showed a world in which guys could be honest and vulnerable with each other, in which straight guys could be accepting of queer and trans people.

It also portrayed a world with minimal misogyny. The group of soon-to-be-ex-strippers don’t despise the women who come to watch them dance and shower them with dollar bills, they love and respect them. Women of all shapes, colors and sizes are shown enjoying themselves, and none of them are held up for ridicule. It’s OK that women have desires and needs.

There’s a poignant scene in the middle of movie when the guys are being driven from Savannah to Charleston by an employee of another strip club.

Donald Glover talks about all the girls he meets every day “for free,” and you think he’s going to boast about how many he picks up. But no, he then turns and starts talking about how many guys just don’t even listen to their women, and he does, and it’s good for them. “We’re like healers, man,” he says, which may be a bit of an overstatement, but it emphasizes how easy it is to be good to women…and how many guys just don’t even bother.

The entire movie is like this – when the main character (Channing Tatum) talks about his ex-girlfriend, he doesn’t slag her off, he just expresses how sad he is that they wanted different things. And when he meets a sad woman on the beach at the beginning of their road trip (and later in Charleston), he doesn’t try to pick her up, he just befriends her and tries to make her smile.

I can’t even tell you what relief it was to watch this movie. It made me realize how much misogyny we experience every day, how much it’s ingrained in our culture to the extent that we only realize the extent when it’s not there.

This makes me sad…and angry. I don’t want my daughter to grow up in a world where hating herself, hating other women, or needing validation from men to feel whole is par for the course. She should honor and love and respect herself as much as this movie does. Maybe it’s time for us to demand that from our entertainment, and from our society, by supporting those things that remind us of our intrinsic worth and rejecting those that seek to belittle us and make us feel inferior.

Dreaming of that new world, you guys…let’s work to make it happen.

 

“Think about it like sleep. If someone was interrupted every 15 minutes while they were trying to sleep, you wouldn’t think they’d be getting a good night’s sleep. So how can getting interrupted all day long lead to a good day’s work?”

Thoughtful post on pros and cons on the usage of group chat apps like Slack by Jason Fried: Is group chat making you sweat?

(via Jocelyn)

Just for fun.

Get out your notebooks, sharpen your pencils, hone your note-passing skills: Laundry School is in session! We’re devoting the entire month of May to the subject of laundry. And what fun would Laundry School be if you couldn’t backtalk the teacher, right? So! The Twitter hashtag for this is #LAUNDRYSCHOOL. If you follow me on Twitter (@joliekerr) you can holler at me when you do your laundry! Or lemme see those beautiful piles of folded clothes! Or ask questions! Or tweet at me in emergency situations! Or maybe you just really, really, really need to talk to me about how folding a fitted sheet sends you into fits of rage. This is me, being here for you. And because I try to be here for you in as many ways as possible, I’ve started a pinboard devoted entirely to laundry to serve as a reference source. Most importantly: got questions? Ask away!

Here we are, coming up on the end of laundry school and oh my, aren’t you all impressive looking in your caps and (perfectly pressed!) gowns. Ach! Just lovely. I’m so proud.

As we did with #LAMOB, for the final installment I’ll recap what we’ve learned — not just this month, but an entire round-up of all the laundry-related questions that we’ve tackled during the lifespan of this column, then I’ll do quick answers to a few more questions and then we’ll throw ourselves a wicked rippah to celebrate our graduation! But before I do that, I feel like I owe you a wee apology: I had every intention of making #LAUNDRYSCHOOL into as well planned out and steady a project as #LAMOB. Then things got, ummm, a li’l busy, and I don’t feel that I’ve brought my A-game to this series. So! To make it up to you, come the Fall we’re going to pack up our extra-long twin sheets and head off to #LAUNDRYCOLLEGE. Which is to say this — all of you who asked about getting cat hair off your blankies and sweaters and dear God on your underpants too?? What all are you doing with your cats? Nevermind, I don’t want to know (unless you’re getting rid of them, in which case OH GOD YES I WANT TO KNOW, I WANT TO KNOW): I will get back to you, promiseies. Also, gosh there were loads (HEH) of other fantastic questions but I’m only one Clean Person, ya know?! So! Please don’t fret if there’s a laundry topic we’ve not yet covered, we’ll get there. Also maybe we’ve already got you covered and you didn’t even know it? Aaand with that lead-in, let’s go to the highlight reel! 

The basics of how to do laundry
Tips for laundering items in hard water
Stain removal for the bustier among us
Doing battle with ‘pit stains
Keeping air-dried clothes smelling fresh
Hand washing bras
Setting the color in dark denim
What to do about dingy whites
Removing Laffy Taffy from clothes
Getting bicycle grease stains off clothing
Hand washing cashmere
What to do when you accidentally use fabric softener instead of detergent
Barf stains on corduroy
Blood stains on underthings
Mildew smells in laundry
…And in washers
Machine washing down parkas
More dye setting tips
Cleaning faux fur trim
What to do about cum stains on sheets
Prewashing cleaning rags to cut down on loads of laundry
Keeping summer whites and brights looking that way
How to get a stinky comforter smelling fresh again
Deodorant stains on bras
Getting yellowed linens white again
Treating mysterious grease spots on laundry
Caring for silk sheeting
Solutions for excessively lint-y towels
Lint removal for bedding and other large surfaces
Handwashing wool and other “dry clean only” items
Washing oversized comforters and mattress pads
Static cling
Washing greasy sheets
Mascara stains on pillowcases
Ironing basics
What to do when colors bleed

Woof! That was exhausting. And yet? THERE’S STILL MORE. But let’s make this fast so we can get onto the important work of signing one another’s Laundry School Class of 2012 yearbooks.

With the weather heating up, I thought this was a timely Laundry Month question: my boyfriend dutifully sprays himself down with sunscreen, but it always leaves a gross orange/pink ring around the collar of his white v-necks. I’ve tried Zout on the stains and OxiClean in the laundry, but neither worked. He suggested bleach — I noticed that when the bleach splashed onto the shirts in the washing machine, there was a momentary chemical reaction where the entire shirt (the white part of the body, there are no stains on the shirt itself, primarily just the v-neck ribbing) turned the same orange/pink. So what’s going on? And, how do I get this stuff off? We live in sunny New Orleans and at this rate he’s going to go broke buying new white v-necks all summer.

There’s an ingredient that is commonly found in sunscreens called avobenzone that reacts with iron particles found in water, particularly hard water. (Remember hard water?? This is how I figure out if you’re paying attention in class, btw.) When the avobenzone gets all funky up with iron it oxidizes and causes what are essentially rust stains. So that’s what we need to treat.

There are a bunch of commercially available products out there that treat rust stains on laundry; Rust Stain Magic (it’s magic!) is one, and while it may seem strange to use the same product on your clothes that you use on your toilet I promise it’s fine. And actually? I guess it’s not that strange. I dunno, that narsty looking toilet on the front of the bottle is throwing me for a loop.

If you want to go the all-natural route, you can use a combination of lemon juice and salt to pull the stains out. Rinse the item in cool water to flush out as much of the stain as possible, squeeze lemon juice on the discolored areas, and sprinkle liberally with salt before allowing it to sit for 24 hours before laundering as usual. The same thing will work with vinegar and salt too.

What you don’t want to use is bleach or, more devastatingly, OxiClean. They won’t work and, particularly in the case of bleach, will make the staining more pronounced. Poor Bleachie, he means well but just can’t seem to get it right.

I’ve got lots of sailor-stripey type tops. I collect and wear them, and I love them so much. I’ve got black on white, white on black, blue on white, and equally spaced red (or blue or black) and white stripes. Sometimes mostly white, and sometimes mostly dark background, if you see what I mean. I’m always saving them for a special load because I’m afraid the white stripes will go dingy on me. However, this often means I have to spend a long time not wearing my favorite striped tops. I’m sometimes tempted to toss the black tops with thin white stripes into the dark wash, but then I get scared I’ll end up with dingy white stripes on a black top. Oh, I should say, most of these tops are cotton, or cotton with lycra. Some are cotton/modal.

Am I being needlessly careful? Can I mix my stripes with my colors? I’m a dutiful separator of colors in washer AND dryer (even separating the red spectrum colors from the blue spectrum colors, and mixing heather grays into both when there’s not enough of each for a load). I love doing my laundry right, you can’t imagine how proud I am of my technique. But the stripes have me stumped!

Oh man, you’re speaking my language — I’ve never met a striped-shirt I didn’t love. My friends and I call them “French Vacation Shirts” and I should probably just go ahead and tell you that I organize my shirt drawer in the following way:

Long sleeved tees
Short sleeved tees
Striped tees

Naturally, the striped tees pile is the biggest one, such that it requires a special folding method so that I can fit them in a double row so that they’ll line up with the solids, those assholes. I don’t even know why I bother with the solids. They’re such dullards.

ANYway. This is mostly to explain that I GET YOU. And I mean? Really what do you do with items that are both white and colored?!? It’s so confounding. But happily I’m here to worry and think and worry about these things so you don’t have to. So here are my two recommendations for you, which you can take in an and/or way: when you first get your striped items, give ’em a soak in a vinegar/water solution to set then color and then wash the whiter of the stripies with your whites, confident in the knowledge that the colored parts won’t bleed because of your forethought. The other choice you have is to use or use the Shout Color Catcher in your mixed wash, which is the best bet for your darker stripies. The Shout Color Catcher, savior of stripie-tee lovin’ lads and lasses the world ’round.

I got a white bathing suit accented with a shiny gray pattern last summer. It actually fits my 32F boobs, which is so nice, but it was super expensive because of that. Anyway, I was at the beach at the time, and in the ocean, and everything was fine. The next time I wore it, it was in a pool and I guess the chlorine or something tinted the white parts yellowish-green. I tried washing it but no luck. It’s been almost a year since I tried to do anything with it, so I guess it is set in pretty badly. I really want to wear the bathing suit this summer … any tips for me?

You betcha! Okay but first let’s talk about what NOT to use: as much as we love it, do not (DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT!!) use bleach on your bathing suits. (Man. Rough week for Bleachie!) It’s absolutely terrible for the fabric.

The best thing to do with any bathing suits you wear into a chlorine pool is to rinse it thoroughly in cold water immediately after wearing. You really don’t want those chemicals hanging out in your suit. You don’t need to wash it straight away or anything nuts — heck, you can just rinse it in the shower when you’re rinsing yourself. (You’re rinsing yourself after swimming, right? Right.)

General bathing suit laundering tips: treat ’em basically like your brawrs. Handwash them in a gentle detergent like Woolite — if they’re dark colored you might choose to use Woolite Dark, which will help to protect the integrity of the color, which takes a real beating what with all that sun and salt and chlorine and rum.

OxiClean is an option, but many people report mixed luck with it on yellowed bathing suits. What does totally work is baking soda, which is convenient since even the barest of refrigerators generally contain a box of baking soda, which means it’s almost always on hand. You’ll want to use a half cup of baking soda dissolved in a sinkful of cold water, and allow the suit to soak in that solution for 1-2 hours. Then drain the sink, rinse the suit and allow it to air dry.

As a last resort, if you really can’t get things as bright as you want them try using a product like White Bright or Rit Whitener & Brightener.

Previously: Laundry School Week 1, Week 2, Week 3 and Week 4.

Jolie Kerr is not paid to endorse any of the products mentioned in this column, but she sure would be very happy to accept any free samples the manufacturers care to send her way! Are you curious to know if she’s answered a question you have? Do check out the archives, listed by topic. More importantly: is anything you own dirty?

The AKC currently recognizes 188 distinct dog breeds, and photographer Ty Foster is determined to photograph each and every one! His ongoing series Canine Collective has captured 74 of these unique breeds so far, presenting them in both a portrait and profile view.

Ty has this to say about the series:

The dog (Canis familiaris).

The descendent of wolves, they have been selectively bred by mankind for millennia for sensory capabilities and for specific  physical and behavioral attributes.  Genetic sequencing dates dogs back 24,000 years when mankind were still hunters and gatherers.  Since then, dogs have undertaken a wide variety of roles such as: hunters, guardians, companions, herders, service roles ( K9 unit, military, aiding the disabled), medical assistance, therapy, search and rescue, and entertainers.  The reason dogs are able to assume so many roles so effectively is because of their ‘purpose built’ nature and the intentional breeding of specific traits and attributes.   Ranging anywhere from 6 inches to 7 feet long and weighing as much as 155 pounds, this targeted breeding has resulted in hundreds of unique breeds of dogs.

The goal of this project is to celebrate the unique physical qualities of the dog and showcase the beauty, variety and personality of the species.  This will be an ongoing project until as many breeds as possible have been photographed.

Take a look at the project in its current development over on TyFoster.com and see if you spot one of your favorite breeds in the mix!

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“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through...

“Nothing important comes with instructions.”
– James Richardson

Self-development is often portrayed as a rosy, flowery progression from dumbass to enlightenment that involves a lot of joy, prancing in fields of daisies, and high-fiving two thousand people at a seminar you paid way too much to be at.

But the truth is that transitions between the life stages are usually triggered by trauma or an extreme negative event in one’s life. A near-death experience. A divorce. A failed friendship or a death of a loved one.

Trauma causes us to step back and re-evaluate our deepest motivations and decisions. It allows us to reflect on whether our strategies to pursue happiness are actually working well or not.

How to move through the four stages of life, by Mark Manson.

(via Jocelyn)

This new cover for It is perfection. Also, this version of the book comes in more normal sized type, which made me realize that It is the War and Peace of horror novels. I could hardly hold it in one hand.

Anyway, I got you guys something.

The post New Cover for Stephen King’s It appeared first on Mighty Girl.

Dear Captain,

I’ve just spent weeks reading through your archives. I’ve learned so much and made lots of plans for how to better interact with parents, friends and colleagues. One of the subjects I read about a lot are difficult mothers and mothers in law.

My husband’s mom is emotionally abusive and very sad all the time. For a few years after marriage, I tried to tiptoe around her and keep the peace… Not that it ever prevented screaming fights or insults where I was mostly silently stunned and my husband resignedly grabbed his coat and we left. After we had some kids things got both better and worse. My mil LOVES our kids and the only times I’ve seen her smile is around them. However, the bad times were worse because now there’s more to fight about (The baby’s name is already on the birth certificate! Drop it! We’re not changing the name!) and also because I don’t want her to someday hurt my kids the way she does my husband.

A few years ago, we stopped having any contact after a particularly bad episode. Recently, my husband has stated talking about reconciliation. I’m hesitant. I can see about 100 negatives and only 2 or 3 positives.

I can see that the scripts and advice you’ve posted would work really well to help manage this relationship – if we go ahead with seeing her again. But, just the thought of it makes me so tired. It is stressful and exhausting before, during and after to interact with her. And even using your advice – it’s a lot of mental and emotional work, especially now that I’m worrying over my kids and my husband-keeping all five (5!) of them calm, quiet, and out of her rampaging danger zone. We live so far away, and the number of times we’ve flown and arrived tired and hungry and unpacked the suitcases and then packed up and left in tears before dinner…Well, it’s more than twice!

My husband is great, smart, easy -going, and a wonderful dad. He won’t reconcile without my support and help. So if I say no – it’s no. If I say yes, I have to go there WITH him to keep him steady and notice when the fighting has become too much and say, “it’s time to leave,” and drive away. I think he relies on me too much, but when I don’t want to see her, he won’t go.

She’s a lonely, sad woman who has driven away all of her family and friends. Is my exhaustion at the thought of having to “deal with her” a good enough reason to keep away?

Thank you for any advice you have.

P.S. If you have the magic combination of words that would convince her to see a therapist, I’d appreciate them.

Thank you,
Fulfilled and happy career gal, mom, and wife… Turned exhausted stressed-out shell by MIL

Hello and welcome to Awkwardland!

If your husband wants to try reconciling with his mom, I think it’s up to him to figure out a process that might work and to put supports in place for himself to make it possible, and I think that it’s okay for you to put the onus on him to do the work here.

What that process could look like:

Baby Step #1: Husband institutes weekly (or monthly) phone chat with his mom – 10-15 minutes (max) at the same set time every time, with advance notice if plans change. If she says something mean to him, he should end the call fairly immediately (“Interesting idea, Mom, well, good catching up, bye!“) and not contact her again until the next scheduled call. (1-3 months)

Baby Step #1a: Husband lines up a counselor or therapist or friend or a journal or some sort of sounding board or other ritual to process his Momthoughts before and decompress after these calls. Maybe he needs to run or bike or kick a big bag at a gym or angrily do yardwork or wash dishes. Whatever works for him time-wise and budget-wise and energy-wise can be fine, with one exception: That sounding board shouldn’t be you. (1-6 months, the sooner the better)

Baby Step #2: If after a little while the chats are working – Mom is behaving herself, husband is able to decompress and soothe on his own afterward without you losing an entire evening to his ranting (for example) – maybe he can swap the solo chats out for a brief Skype session with one or two of the kids and closely monitor the conversations. If your mom behaves herself and doesn’t say nasty things, this routine will continue. If she does start up, your husband can end the discussion immediately and revert to no chats or solo chats only and ease back in at his convenience. (6 months – 1 year)

Baby Step #3a: Alternately, what if Grandma & kids became pen pals? She gets crayons and finger paints and glitter (the devil on my shoulder says “SO MUCH GLITTER!) and visible talismans of her grandkids to display and hold onto, your kids get a fun art project for an afternoon, and postal mail is a pretty relaxed way of maintaining contact in this digital world. Everyone makes fun of greeting cards for being trite, but think of it this way: Your husband can just sign his name and the kids can cutely sign theirs, and some copywriter does the hard part! Throw on a stamp and your husband is good for 1-2 months of “LOOK MOM, I’M TRYING” credit. (3 months – 1 year)

Baby Step #4: If chats are going well, and a visit seems in order, howabout husband visits solo or takes one of the kids along for a short trip? Maybe? He shouldn’t do these on major holidays (thereby ruining them for you), he shouldn’t stay in her house, he should schedule time with other nearby relatives or friends, and he should build in nearby attractions/activities that are kid-friendly….(after 1 year of successful lower-key interactions)

Baby Step #4a: If the visit goes well, maybe there can be more of them spaced out over time. If it doesn’t, back to square one and rebuild (or not) from there. If his mom agitates for holiday visits, or the whole family, he can say “Those big family trips really haven’t worked for us in the past, so we’re gonna keep doing it our way.” Translation: “Take it or leave it, Grandma. You have no rights here and were given plenty of chances to not suck at this.” (1 year – infinity)

His mom can’t be taught to be a nicer person, but she can be taught to behave better if she wants to see her grandkids. It’s not a perfect solution (it never is with abusive people) because if the kids form a relationship with her and they start to look forward to Chats with Grandma it’s harder to pull back on them without explaining why to your kids. However, if your husband focuses on protecting the kids and himself from abusive behavior, the kids will form their own opinion about Grandma over time. She may rally a bit and put a good face forward in order to preserve the tie. That can be a good outcome, even if it feels like a betrayal of everything you know to be true about her and you and husband giving each other the side-eye that means “It is so unfair that poisonous people get to mellow with age.” The kids may (infuriatingly) adore her. Maybe that’s how it heals, a little. Maybe they will figure out she has a shitty personality and ask to opt out of visits and calls. Maybe it never heals.

Anyway, please notice that we are a loooooooong way away from six people getting on a plane for a tense & expensive holiday visit with you as Chief Logistics and Emotions Manager.

Also notice that in these imagined scenarios it’s your husband who is taking the steps to contact his mom, setting boundaries with her, monitor her treatment of him and your kids, and emotionally take care of himself through the process.

Finally, please notice that the steps outlined what that process could look like but does not address whether it should happen at all. If your husband can’t or won’t take on the majority of the emotional labor, maybe he shouldn’t reconcile with his mom right now. He’s the only one who can really make that decision, and I think you are 100% allowed to say “That’s up to you, and I want you to have whatever relationship with your mom you decide you want to pursue, and you know I will always support you and believe you and remind you of your worth. But I won’t I won’t drag myself and all our kids there anymore, so if you want to visit her, plan on going solo or taking one kid at a time, and I’ll support you by holding the fort down here.”

You could also say, “Tell me more about what ‘reconciling’ looks like for you?” which does two things: 1) It shows him that you are willing to listen and support him and 2) it assigns the question of what exactly his wants and needs and plans for this are as something he should generate. If he moves ahead, there will also be the little ongoing conversations where you suggest & maintain specific boundaries, for example, “After you talk to your mom tomorrow week, could you make a plan to go for a run or play a video game or jam out on your jazz flute for a while? I want to support you, but the full, immediate download is overwhelming for me.”

Letter Writer, you’re rightly feeling uncomfortable right now, and I don’t think that’s just because of your well-founded pessimism about how this reconciliation is going to go or your stellar instincts to shield your kids from the woman who abused your husband(!!!!). You clearly have a lot of empathy for your mother-in-law even after how she’s treated you and yours, and it’s a very kind of you to try to imagine a way that she can have a relationship with her grandkids and to want to give her something good to hold into. But by telling you “it’s your call” your husband is already outsourcing the emotional work of all of this to you, and that’s not okay. It’s natural and understandable and forgivable that he would do so, on many levels – you’ve been a great support and buffer in the past, and as the chief survivor of her abuse he’s not a bad person for wanting someone to brave the lion’s den with him. In some ways it’s a sign of respect that he values your opinion so much and recognizes how much work it is for you to support him through this that he won’t proceed without your buy-in. But it’s not okay to put the pressure of the decision on you, and definitely not okay unless he is willing to shoulder the majority of the work and to take steps to put more of a support system than just you into place. Probably the best thing you can do for your entire family including your husband is to model good self-care and good boundaries by saying, “I won’t stand in your way, but I won’t take the lead either.”

P.S. Bonus therapy suggestion script, since you asked:

I don’t think you or your husband will necessary persuade his mom to go to therapy, especially if they have been out of contact for a while and aren’t close. Down the road, if he sees a counselor (not the worst idea if he’s going to re-open the can of worms marked ‘Mean Mom’), one approach might be: “You seem really angry and sad to me when we talk lately, Mom. Have you ever tried talking to a professional about it? I’ve tried that out lately, and I was surprised by how helpful I found it.” If she has a primary care doctor that person could probably recommend someone, or if there is a local “Department on Aging” they might be able to offer some phone numbers, and he might be able to fold it into “general health” concerns, like, “Ma, get your annual checkup, and please make sure you tell your doctor how sad you’ve been feeling lately, since that can affect physical health.”

P.P. S. In the comments, I bet the Letter Writer would love to hear from parents who have and those who have not made efforts to make peace with a problematic parent for the sake of fostering a relationship with grandkids.

P.P.P.S. Finally, Winter Pledge Drive Week remains a thing that I will mention during all posts this week. Maintaining the blog takes about 30 hours weekly when you add in comment moderation and it’s a big help to have your support. If you’re able to send a few dollars, feel free to use Paypal (welcometoawkwardtown@gmail.com) or contribute via Dwolla or Cash.me. Thanks for all the contributions and the kind words so far, it’s amazing to be connected to so many kind people!

 

 

 

 

 

This Red Fox print by Michael O’Neal would will look so good in my home.

SMBC

This snowflake cookie cutter seems like a very efficient way to go about cookie making…

According to documents, Michigan officials provided coolers and bottled water for government offices several months before a lead advisory went out to city residents.

This minimal beauty of a wall clock is called Melancholia and the designers added a seriously poetic product description:

Like the film Melancholia, my clock also consists of two parts. The minute hand is called ‘Justine’, and she deals with her melancholic sister – the hour hand ‘Claire’. And just as Lars von Trier’s planet, Melancholia, devours the Earth, my minute hand will devour the hour hand twice a day. Twice a day the minute and hour hands are at the top together. But slowly, melancholia descends between them like a curtain she has set in motion. It looks like the “sisters” truly suffer from doubts. Twice a day you see them meet and talk about their experiences of being alone. They have different tempos. But they have been two, and, for a brief moment they become one. Alone in the Universe. It’s a scary and sobering thought. As when you see pictures from outer space, you shiver with the sense that we’re awfully alone.

A man in purgatory gets one minute to ask any questions he wants.

Chris and Jack

Has a man recently told you, “You look tired” at work? That’s a big deal. You’re probably putting out distress signals that say “I’m not prepared to have it all!” Here’s a mini-guide to help get your face looking bright and perfect so you’ll never mess up anything ever again.

1. Apologize — Apologize for everything, especially your face. Now go home and fix your face, and apologize to everyone you make eye contact with on the way home. Apologize when you return. Apologizing means it’s your fault, and that’s how you remain in control. Stay in control!

2. Wear a Belt — Studies have shown* wearing a belt not only makes you appear slimmer and therefore more attractive, it can also help you lose 5 – 30 lbs. depending how tightly you cinch it around your stomach. Cinch it!

*No.

3. Ask the Man If Anyone Ever Asks Him If He Looks Tired — Just kidding! Men never look tired, they only look more powerful.

4. Take a Mini Spa — Just because you don’t give yourself a lunch break doesn’t mean you don’t have five minutes for a mini spa. Lock yourself in the office bathroom and set your cell phone timer. Put sliced cucumbers over your eyes, then massage your temple and sinus areas while reciting positive affirmations and taking vigorous breaths. Rinse your face, then douse it with hot sauce. Follow with a quick application of brown eyeliner.

5. Wear Bright Red Lipstick (or orange-red, depending on your skin tone) — Starting at your left ear and following the projected contour of your natural lip line, outline your lips, ending at your right ear. Repeat for lower lips. Fill in with the stick you’re using, or a whole different shade altogether. Go bold! If you’re in the mood to splurge, cosmetic tattoo technology now allows for woman’s eyebrows to always look groomed and alert.

5*. If no cosmetics are readily available, tape something like a prettier picture of you from the Internet onto your existing face. In a pinch, taping post-its, bookmarks, or newspaper clippings will also help obscure your visage.

6. Scream, “You’re right, I AM tired — OF YOUR FACE!” Apologize immediately, then wait to get fired.

Taylor Orci is a writer and comedian living in Los Angeles. She does wear brown eye liner when she’s tired. Someone told her that works(?).

Photo via Flickr

About a month ago I left my editorial job to return to writing, and I knew I was going to do this for a while, so I had a few months to really hyperventilate over my decision. I hadn’t written much in that time and was feeling kinda dead inside as a result, so well before I was unemployed, I set myself the task of writing down 10 ideas every day. They couldn’t be stupid—“write a bestseller” or "make a million dollars" couldn’t count as an idea, much as I wanted it to— but “not stupid” was otherwise broadly defined. 

This was a really valuable exercise and I recommend it. Idea generating is hard work. It tires you out like exercise can tire you out. Just like exercise, it can feel overly difficult and pointless, until you start to see results. 

When you’re churning out ideas you generate all kinds of garbage. Sometimes you're delighted by the useless garbage. You get to look back at your lists from weeks before and you don't have a single clue what you were thinking. Were you falling asleep when you wrote these?

Then you post a few to your blog because what the hell. 

• “You're Not Terrible: A Story for All My Friends Who Think They're Terrible" 

Well, that's easy. You're not terrible! You're the best, not the worst! Why do you think you're terrible when you're definitely not! Only people who are terrible don't think they're terrible. Wait, did you not previously think you're terrible and now you do because I said this? No way, not you. You're a shimmering being of light. I want to take pictures of you all day.   (Great idea, great story, get this published immediately) 

• “Alice and Alison—find someone I can emulate, like Julie and Julia!” 

Oh my god, what? Get a hold of yourself, Bradley. Also what Alisons are there in this world? Alison Williams? Alison Brie? Commendable young ladies, but no. Gross. Stop it. Now I'm mad at me. 

•  “Eulogy for the guy who lived down the street who’s angry about the sun.” 

 I don’t have a clue what this means. I don’t know what it could possibly mean even in my imagination. I’m 99% sure I was dreaming when i wrote this. This is dream language. But then my penmanship is pretty legible. It wasn’t even my last idea of the day. Was I thinking about Buzz Aldrin railing against the moon on 30 Rock and I thought, that’s proven gold, just flip it and make it local? Oh well, here you go: 

We’re here to remember that guy who lived down the street. He was a good man, even though he was super angry about the sun. He was always outside, which is weird, seeing as how the sun made him so angry. Most of us on the block have a fun story about Bill—his name was Bill, obviously, we all know this—standing in the middle of the street, waving his arms around about the sun and its hidden agenda. “But it’s cloudy out today, Bill!” we’d say, and he’d reply, “But it’s there, damn your hide! Don’t you understand? It’s not leaving us alone, it’s just hiding! Continuing its secret work!” And we'd tell him, "Bill, we need the sun for warmth and energy!" And that's when he'd start karate chopping the air. He was a colorful guy and wore a real big hat. We’ll miss his yelling—his sunrise yelling least of all. 

Rest in peace, idea. 

• Stories about weird street detritus

One of my neighbors left, on the curb, the following tableau: a Plan B box leaning against an empty bottle of Old Fitzgerald bourbon and a pair of denim cutoffs. I’ve been trying to find a way to mention this online ever since. God that felt good. 

 

 

 

 

 

“The White traveler has had no difficulty in getting accommodations, but with the Negro, it has been different.” So reads the foreword of a series of travel guides called Green Books, created to help black Americans travel safely through a segregated and often unsafe country during the years of Jim Crow.

The Green Books are among a giant new free digital archive of over 187,000 historical documents including maps, postcards, photographs, and documents released by The New York Public Library and reported on recently by my colleague Adrienne LaFrance.

Named after its creator Victor H. Green, a postal worker in New York, the Green Books were published between the 1930s and the 1960s, halting when the Civil Rights Act finally ended the legal practice of segregation. In a 2010 interview with NPR, the civil-rights activist and the then-chairman of the NAACP Julian Bond recalled his family’s use of the travel guides during road trips. “My family had a ‘Green Book’ when I was young,” he said, “and used it to travel in the South to find out where we could stop to eat, where we could spend the night in a hotel or somebody’s home.”

Also in a 2010 interview with The New York Times, Lonnie Bunch, the director of the National Museum of African American History and Culture added his own memories. “The ‘Green Book’ tried to provide a tool to deal with those situations,” he said. “It also allowed families to protect their children, to help them ward off those horrible points at which they might be thrown out or not permitted to sit somewhere. It was both a defensive and a proactive mechanism.”

The original Green Book, published in 1937, is fairly limited, with only 16 pages. But by the 1960s the publication was around 100 pages filled with hotels, restaurants, attractions, and homes that black travelers could safely visit. And those listings weren’t solely black-owned businesses Jennifer Reut, a historian who has studied the contents of the Green Books notes. Reut’s project Mapping the Green Book, takes an in-depth look at individual establishments around the country and their history. As time went on, the books and their entries became more sophisticated and varied, with international listings that stretched into Canada, Mexico, and the West Indies. The official title also became swankier: The Negro Motorist Green Book: An International Travel Guide.

The most prolific listings are exactly where you’d expect them, cities like New York, Detroit, Chicago, and Washington, D.C., where there were thriving populations of black Americans and more progressive mindsets. Reut says that the Green Books and similar travel guides were perhaps more valuable for their listings outside of these metropolises, where friendly facilities were few and far between. She says that the race of the owners of the facilities that advertised in the guides ran the gamut, but were all welcoming to black residents.

Reut’s work traveling to the Green Book sites is a reminder that the the horror of Jim Crow wasn’t that long ago at all. In her work Reut has come across institutions mentioned in the Green Book that are still up and running, and families whose businesses are mentioned in the books have reached out to talk. Reut says that in her travels she’s always looking for businesses that have survived the decades since the guides’ publication. In some places she says there should be more: In Los Angeles, for instance, she says only about one in every five listings is still around. “You had urban renewal in the ‘60s when they just came in and wiped out these incredible, thriving black business districts,” she said. “So time after time I will go to big and small places and the entire landscape of black business is gone.”

During his interview with NPR, Julian Bond noted how just a few short decades later, the severity of the racial segregation that made these publications necessary can be difficult to grasp. “You think about the things that most travelers take for granted, or most people today take for granted. If you go to New York City and want a haircut, it’s pretty easy for me to find a place where that can happen, but it wasn’t easy then. White barbers would not cut black people’s hair. White beauty parlors would not take black women as customers—hotels and so on, down the line,” he said. “You needed the ‘Green Book’ to tell you where you can go without having doors slammed in your face.”

Jessica Olien is a writer and illustrator who moves a lot.

I have a cleaning etiquette question! Say that you are a frequent cat-sitter. In addition to cat care, and respectful treatment of the apartment, and all that good stuff, say you want to improve the cat-owner’s (or the cat’s) living conditions? My question is: what is appropriate to clean and not clean?

I’m thinking fair game is things like scrubbing shower curtains, or kitchen cabinets, or certainly stoves. Or buying new litterboxes. But I also think that cleaning of the spaces of others can be intrusive or even hostile or insulting! How far can I go, to inspire delight without committing insult or bad feelings?

This is a really, really tricky one, because yes you do run the risk of being invasive and offending. And there is absolutely no way to give a definitive answer, because what one person finds intrusive and insulting another will find welcome and thoughtful. Hell, the same person might find the gesture insulting one day and welcome the next! People! They are so pesky, what with their moods and traits and differences and such.

Here’s what I’ve done in the past (where, granted, the catsitting was done in an already pretty clean home): Cleaned the bathroom and kitchen surfaces to gleaming, swept/mopped floors, cleaned out a refrigerator (not, like, a full deep clean but I’ve tossed things, wiped a grungy surface, put things back inside in an orderly fashion). My logic is this: In the course of staying there I dirtied the bathroom, used the kitchen and may have noticed spoiled items in the fridge. I also may have gone to the grocery store and while putting things away done a wee bit of reorganization. Right? All normal activities that justify a cleaning! (Also, if you’re staying in someone’s home you’re cleaning the bathroom and kitchen up before you leave, yes? Yes. OK good, just checking.)

Here’s what I’ve not done: Reorganized pantries and spice racks, utility closets, or under sink areas. That’s crossing a line I think that can’t really be justified with an “Oh so sorry — while I was here I spilled a whole pitcher of Crystal Light in the fridge and had to clean the whole damn thing out! I hope you didn’t think I was being a crazy clean freak!!!”-style fib.

But back to that point on the nature of the individual: The best advice I can give is to make a judgement call based on how much you know about the person whose home you’re in, whose cat you’re minding and proceed from there. That is so vague! I am sorry! But if the home belongs to your most high-strung friend, who is currently in Jamaica getting her groove back after an ugly divorce and 45-pound weight gain then maybe just leave things be? If it belongs to the most laid-back person you know, who is currently in Jamaica getting even more laid-back than usual then by all means BLEACH AWAY. BLEACH WITH IMPUNITY! Just don’t bleach the litterbox (we’ll get to that)!

But cripes, if the litterbox is growing fur or the shower curtain liner is covered in mildew and a week of having it potentially touch you in your Beulah is more than you can take, replace the damn thing. Just leave a little note, perhaps even one that contains a lie (DON’T LIE, LYING IS BAD, YOU LYING LIAR) like, “I noticed Fluffy’s box had a split along the side, so I replaced it!” or “I slipped in the shower and tore the liner clear off the rod — I bought you a new one, so sorry, I hope you weren’t attached!”

Jolie, cat pee on carpeting. Does anything actually ever get rid of the smell?

I do not allow living things other than myself — human, plant or animal — into my home as a general rule, so I consulted noted cat- and carpet-owner Choire Sicha for his thoughts on this rather common dilemma:

Cat pee on carpeting is pretty fucking bad.

I mean, I just scrub it like 80 times with a strong but organic soap. But! Synthetic carpets and real carpets are different animals. (Quite literally: carpets made of actual animal hair-based fibers clean differently — and they are alive and they breathe and they must be treated well. For real carpets, the answer is best addressed by a professional.) But most modern carpets are actually petroleum byproducts. And are therefore easier to clean — the stink doesn’t actually saturate the “fibers” which just need to be extensively washed, which is hard if the carpet is “installed” and you can’t force water through it. It’s usually best if you can pull it up from one side because of course a liquid will saturate any padding beneath the carpet or also remain on the floor. In lieu of forcing water and soap “through” the carpet, it’s just scrub and wet, dry, repeat, followed by a bonding carpet cleaner and vacuuming.

BOOM.

(P.S. FEBREZE IS THE DEVIL AND JUST MEANS THERE’S CAT PEE EVERYWHERE THAT YOU CAN’T QUITE SMELL.)

(Choire’s disdain of Febreze thrills me to my soul.)

I followed up to ask if he had a favorite brand of “strong but organic soap” and I got this:

OH MAN!

Well I was a HUGE fan of those witches who made the what ya call it, you know who I mean, they had a broom on everything — oh, CALDREA! But didn’t they sell the company? To, I dunno, GE Westinghouse Kibbles and Bits or something? (Oh: SC Johnson. But you know, so what, I guess.)

Our household also prefers an original castile soap for nearly all forms of cleansing. LOL.

So OK! There’s one approach, any of you cat-having ladies have other suggestions for our friend with the pee-pee carpet? The only things I would add are 1. enzymatic cleaners and 2. carpet steamers. Oh and! Don’t use ammonia or ammonia-based products, as cats are attracted to the scent of pee-pee (LOL EW), which contains ammonia, and they’ll just piddle in the spot where you ammonia’d.

This one should be fairly simple, but I’m flummoxed.  What is a foolproof system for keeping a litterbox from smelling?  Extenuating circumstances — two elderly cats one of whom has a thyroid problem (being treated) that makes him pee a bit more than your average cat and the fact that I’m away for 36-48 hours a couple of times a month.  My roommate can feed the little guys but I don’t expect him to scoop the litter.  I did get some kind-of-exciting psychedelic blue “Tidy Step Crystals” that have helped keep the problem more under control, but even with daily scooping the smell goes instantly from non-existent to OH-MY-GOD-WHAT-KIND-OF-CRACKHOUSE-AM-I-LIVING-IN? levels of stench at some incredibly-difficult-to-pinpoint (ahead of the time) instant.  Please help.

Welllllllll. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your roommate is going to have to start scooping. If this is something that he is going to balk at because it wasn’t part of the living arrangement social contract you two worked out, then you’re going to have to find a way to make it worth his while. (Presumably living in a not-pee-pee-smelling home isn’t enough of an incentive.) Pay him in beer? Pick up the entire cable bill? Whatever, you talk to him and work it out.

Here are some other things you should try out, in addition to scooping every single day.

1. Unless you have a cat who has stated his or her desire for low litter, the litter should fill half the box — more isn’t better, and the cats won’t like it. Less won’t be enough.
2. Once a week, empty the box entirely and wash it with dish soap, preferably unscented. Cats have a much keener sense of smell than we do and might reject the box experience altogether if they encounter an unpleasant-to-them odor.
3. Before refilling the box with fresh litter, sprinkle a thin layer of baking soda along the bottom of the box. The baking soda smell won’t offend the delicate olfactory sensibilities of your dear feline friends, and it will help with odor absorption. (Also I’m contractually obligated to mention baking soda at least once per column and I’m getting to the end of things here.)
4. Keep the litterbox far away from any heat sources, as heat will heighten smells — as anyone who’s ever spent a summer in New York can attest.

A final word here about bleach: Do not use any bleach-based products when dealing with litterboxes, because, as I mentioned up-column, pee-pee is ammonia-ish, and as we’ve discussed before ammonia + bleach = A BIG NO-NO. (Also vinegar + bleach, also a no-no.) And won’t you think about poor Fluffy and her overly sensitive sense of smell? Right, eschew bleach. (The hippies are so happy right now. Bah.)

Jolie Kerr is not paid to endorse any of the products mentioned in this column, but she sure would be very happy to accept any free samples the manufacturers care to send her way! Are you looking for a green alternative to the suggestions found here? Because we’ve got some! More importantly: Is anything you own dirty?

A reader digs up a great moment from the late David Bowie:

Jay Smooth recently posted this video of Bowie asking, with terrible politeness, why there were so few black artists featured on MTV. It’s an absolute masterclass in how to use privilege well. Being a white celebrity means that he doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Being a white musician means that he has an advantage when it comes to remaining genuinely calm in these sorts of debates, because it’s not personal to him, and rather than treating that fact as a reason to abandon calmness, he treats it as an opportunity.

Finally, being white at all means he has a better chance of being perceived as calm. I don’t think a black person could have said all that, in precisely that tone, without being pejoratively accused of being “angry.” So, Bowie just uses the power he has to pull an awkward fact into the light and sit with it until it becomes terribly uncomfortable, deftly walking the line of politeness without ever letting MTV off the hook. It’s beautiful, and worth learning from.

Much more Bowie praise from Atlantic readers and writers here.

“Very few people have the humility to start as amateurs. They procrastinate doing the work they want in the name of perfectionism. You know these people. The one’s who have been saying for years that they’re going to do something but never do. Yet inwardly, they’re terrified of what other people will think of them. They’re caught in a state of paralysis by analysis — too busy calculating and never reaching a state of flow. Rather than doing work their own way, they do what they think will be well-received — being merely imitators of what is already popular.”

How to Become the Best in the World at What You Do, By Benjamin Hardy

I consider myself fairly crunchy on the “granola” spectrum. I homebrew kombucha, take a lax view toward showers and shampoo, and, yes, bake my own granola. So when I started hearing buzz about menstrual cups – much of the buzz from Hairpinners themselves! – it sounded way up my alley.

(Yes, that is a portent of things to come.)

I am pro-environment and as anti-spending money as the next twenty-something grad student, so I researched the heck out of those little guys. The number of review websites alone will boggle the mind. As usual, though I am totally willing to try new things, and want good information first, there’s a point where my deciding-things brain shuts down from overload and my doing-things brain says “PICK ONE,” which is why I settled on the Diva Cup. I ordered the pre-childbirth model and awaited my next period with anticipation.

Now, I knew there was a learning curve with these things—even my friends that didn’t flee in horror at the idea of a silicon sippy cup up in their business, those friends who routinely and successfully use them had mentioned the possibility of leaking, of the seal being tricky, etc. I was not to be deterred by a learning curve. I’d pop that baby in the day before my period, give myself some time to figure it out, and stock up on pads just in case.

First thing to mention: Getting the Diva Cup in was… not easy. It’s made of surprisingly tough, springy material that you’re supposed to origami in specific ways before easing it up your vaginal canal. I kept pressing it into one of the two recommended folds and having it spring back to its original shape and leap out my hands like it knew something I didn’t. Still, with time, relaxation, and commitment, I got that sucker in. I did not, however—I repeat, did not—manage the all-important 360-degree turn. I sort of lost control of it once it was up in the vaginal canal, but the stem (the shorter, smaller piece of silicone meant for you to grab onto to ease the cup downward so you can release the seal for removal) was nicely situated right at the vaginal opening, so I figured, eh, I’ll get that part next time.

I spend the entirety of that day in a post-Christmas blur braving a family reunion and several malls in the greater Los Angeles area, and didn’t think twice about the Cup until I got home that night. I knew it might take some time to get out. I got comfortable, and followed the instructions to press down with my pelvic floor to help shift the cup downward. But I realized, with an increasing panic, that I could not get it out. I tried to get it out sitting on the toilet. I tried to get it out lying down. I tried to get it out squatting, in child’s pose, in the bath, in bed, with a hat, with a cat, and so on.

The cup was not budging. 

It was, well, way, way up my alley. Without that all important twist-to-seal movement, the Cup had migrated up to the top of my vaginal canal, and had created its own rogue seal much farther up than it should have. It had also shifted so that the stem was tucked up above my pubic bone—technically, my pubis symphysis, I think. (You read up a lot on your anatomy when you lose something in it.) I could reach up there with one-hooked finger to try and drag the stem down to a more graspable place, but, unfortunately, Captain-Hooking myself proved totally ineffectual.

A crucial piece of information: I’m a virgin. This is not necessarily an issue, according to the makers of Diva Cup, but, in my particular, small, unexpanded case, it was. Not being big on vaginal penetration, I have used tampons for years with aplomb, but the maneuver to remove this lodged cup was kind of out of my reach. I just was not expanded enough up in there to root around with two fingers, pinching like one of those dinosaur-headed grabber toys.

Unable to get it out or down, I gave up. I gave in. For a moment, at least, I would be the Bionic Woman: half-lady parts, half-silicone. That night, I had no less than three dreams that the Diva had magically migrated itself into the outer world. The next morning, approaching 24 hours with this silicone cup snuggled up against my baby-maker, I had gotten desperate. I had reached the point when you’re seriously considering plumbing your own depths with a popsicle stick, and I knew it was time to bring in some professional help, lest I end up on the news under the banner “Woman Fishes Out Own Cervix.”

It was a Sunday morning, so my regular gynecologist wasn’t an option. I could have waited till Monday (there’s no risk for toxic shock syndrome with the Diva, thankfully!), but at that point I JUST. WANTED. IT. OUT. I drove to a local Urgent Care, and cheered myself with the thought that I’d be out of there in an hour and back to my normal routine of not sticking new things up my vagina.

The very nice NP at Urgent Care had never even heard of menstrual cups before, which didn’t help our cause—but neither did my forgetting to bring the box, the instructions, a picture from the internet, or anything else besides my claims that it was safe, really. She had no idea what kind of voodoo I had shoved up my hoohaw. I’m pretty sure she thought I had either fallen prey to an internet scam, or had lost a new-fangled sex toy up there, and was too embarrassed to admit it. Either way, after multiple failed attempts, she couldn’t get it out, and sent me to the ER.

The ER waiting room was roughly like the steerage deck of the Titanic. Throughout my three-hour wait, there were altercations between patients and patients and between staff and patients, and the security guard was kept busy separating and ejecting various parties from the waiting room. I mention this because the thing about this whole removal situation is that it depends quite a bit on one’s ability to relax. And the ER is not a place to relax.

My good friend, K, was my texting buddy throughout this whole ordeal from the first “Gonna try the Diva lol” to “Haaalp its stuuuuckkk”, and went so far as to send me a video of how she managed to remove a condom that had gotten lost inside her (true friendship). I admit to trying her tactic in the emergency room bathroom, with no luck.

The ER doctor who finally saw me went through the exact same process as the NP at Urgent Care: beginning with confident nonchalance (they’ve pulled a lot of things out of a lot of people), leaving and coming back with longer and longer forceps, ending with—swear on my cervix—a torture-device-looking thing with scissor handles that was legitimately a foot and a half long. AHHHH. (Thankfully, she didn’t show that to me until afterward).

She confirmed that it was totally, totally suctioned onto my cervix, and after propping me wide open with a speculum she worked to slowly—agonizingly—get a small, slippery piece of silicone unstuck from further up my vaginal canal than I am used to having strangers reach around. I was actually grateful not to be a part of this process of removal; it made me feel like less of a wimp for not being able to get the thing out myself, and grateful that there exist men and women to help solve our unexpected and embarrassing problems. I spent this time breathing deeply, bracing myself against the hospital bed, and envisioning a Tahitian beach.

As Diva users know, what goes in must eventually come out. Though, in my case, rather than easily and as instructed, it was with the help of multiple medical professionals. When I heard the weird suction sound of the cup finally exiting my person, I shouted “THANK YOU,” and got a tiny glimpse of what it might feel like to give birth: wanting nothing but to get something outside of you that seems lodged inside forever.

Of course, with birth, the added bonus is that the thing that comes out is your own human baby, and not a piece of plastic you finally retrieve for a refund.

Although it took a day of discomfort, this whole process didn’t make me anti-menstrual cup. Like I said, I have a number of friends who use theirs with comfort and success. I do think I’ll retreat back to the world of those little cotton capsules of doom, at least until I have good reason to think I’ve gotten wider or more flexible in my lady space.

Here is what I’ve learned:

1. Confident does not equal competence. Confidence does not equal competence. I repeated this to myself throughout the day at the ER. Just because you’re gung-ho about a new experience, doesn’t mean the universe is gonna do you a solid and magically support your freewheeling experiments with your body. It doesn’t mean I’m done being a freewheeling experimenter, but it does mean I might think twice about experiments that involve inserting new things into my orifices.

2. Embrace your embarrassment. Yes, it was embarrassing to tell every nurse, every orderly, and every doctor about the exact state of lady business. But I did. And everyone was only very nice and very supportive and “so sorry” for my whole ordeal. Embarrassment: not so embarrassing, sometimes.

3. Every step of the way—from the nurse who took me into a private room to tell her all the details when I was admitted, to the doctor who was finally able to finagle the stubborn thing out of there—kind, capable, professional women literally took me into their hands and helped me. Although the male medical professionals I interacted with that day were just as helpful and kind, there is something comforting about someone with a vagina handling yours.

4. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, MASTER THAT 360 TURN.

 

Amy is a writer and a grad student who lives in Los Angeles.