In case you missed it, I wrote about my experience with Hurricane Katrina on Yes and Yes. With all that has gone on lately in Alabama, Joplin, Missouri, and so many other places, I hope that others know that they aren’t alone and they can get through the hardships going on right now.
When Your Abuser Gets Married is an incredibly powerful read, and quite honestly leaves me a bit speechless.
It’s Okay to Have Everything You Want at Medicinal Marzipan. I have the hardest time remembering that, and especially living it. Though I’m trying.
Also at Medicinal Marzipan — On Blogger Responsibility. What do bloggers owe their readers? Do they owe them anything in regards to disclaimers, being ethically minded, etc?
Dear Dudes in the Pretty Good Things Craft Fair Booth sums up a lot in the dynamics of male/female shopping.
Has this happened to you? Your lady is totally smitten with a hat, fascinator or hair do-dad and you’ve been asked, “what do you think?”.
You’re tired, you don’t share her enthusiasm about item in question and last but not leastly, you want to get the eff out of this mother effing shopping excursion. Well! Get ready because I know JUST the thing you can say/do:
On the Plus Side: In Defense of GabiFresh Or Why the Plus Sized Community Needs to Wake Up. There are so many pearls of wisdom in this that apply to ALL bloggers, in almost all niches.
What are you saying to brands by republishing their press releases? What are you saying to brands when you enter a competition to be selected to attend a blogging conference? What are you saying to brands by competing against your colleagues for a $600 bejeweled bra and asking what it is that you can do to help that brand?
Why Women Are (At Times) Their Own Worst Enemy at Beautifully Invisible. I got angry because I knew it wasn’t true. I got angry because how dare she call me a cow when I know that I am beautiful! I know that and that is what matters.
Sexy is a State of Mind by Anika By Anika. Enough Said.
How to Dress Joyously at Already Pretty.
Learning from Oprah’s Mistakes at For Those About to Shop. I’ve never been a huge Oprah devotee (I think she’s pretty badass though), and this post is a great reminder that she IS badass.
Sound Advice at Bonne-Vie. When you love yourself regardless of your bad hair days, your outfit faux-pas, your gaffes in public (I’m a total goober in public, but I laugh, because it’s often hilarious!), you are nothing but inspiring – even on your non-fashionable days.
Why do we feel compelled to reveal where we got things from? It seems that many times, when fashion bloggers reveal where they purchased certain items, certain readers (and other bloggers) would feel compelled to buy the same things for themselves (and possibly blog wearing the same item). Is fashion/outfit/style blogging just another channel that feeds the capitalist machine?
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.