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A Movie Review

I mentioned to my father in passing that I wrote a Star Trek review but never posted it due to the insane ramblings contained therein

he then told me I should post it anyway.

Just a note to those of you who have never read one of these nightmares: I usually write my reviews within a few hours of watching a movie so they tend to reflect my stream of consciousness/sleep deprivation. I often get excited about stuff (to put it mildly) so there are long stretches of CAPSLOCK FEVER. I also can never remember what anyone’s names are, so characters devolve into (usually uncreative) nicknames I make up for them, oftentimes in reference to former projects of theirs.

So with that warning, here you go:

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Filed under star trek into darkness movie reviews i am a crazy person

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A life update and a thing to watch!

Hello friends and happy Easter.

I know I haven’t posted in 4 months, but that’s just because I’ve been busy*. I have a new job (just one this time, with benefits and everything!) where I take calls from people who want to get STD testing done.

LIVING THE DREAM!

I’ve also been writing a lot for various things, still none of which I’m being paid for.

In addition to that, I finally broke down and am taking improv. It’s much more relaxing than I anticipated and, while I still don’t think that it’s my ultimate calling, it is really fun to have a designated play time every week. Plus hopefully it’ll make me less scared to finally try stand-up one of these days. I need the gradual easing-in for these sorts of things. Like a goldfish being introduced into a new bowl. Don’t just plop me in - I’ll have a fish-style freakout.

As some of you may know, I completed the Second City writing program (I even got a certificate and everything) which culminates in a revue** that I helped write. And now YOU CAN ACTUALLY WATCH THE SHOW ONLINE. With the beauties of technology, this dude was able to film the show and livestream it. Until recently you had to pay to watch it but now you can watch it for free!

So head on over to this linky-link and check it out.

Just to let you know:

  • the show is about 50 minutes
  • my specific sketches are the third sketch (which starts at about minute 7:30) and the second-to-last sketch (at minute 50:50)
  • however, I did have a hand throughout because it was a collaborative process
  • the sketches were written throughout our year-long program
  • I get anxious every time I watch it because something is wrong with my brain
  • wasn’t our cast great?
  • our cast was*** great

So yeah, it would be awesome if you wanted to watch it. I think it fairly displays what I’ve been doing with my time here.

Hopefully in the near future I’ll have more stuff to show you, but until then I’ll try to update this more frequently.

* busy is a relative term since it mostly means watching Buffy for the first time ever and researching for my projects, which usually devolves into watching youtube videos featuring baby sloths

** this is just a fancy term for “show” for those of you who aren’t in the biz

*** I say “was”, but they are still currently great since none of them are dead or anything

Filed under the writer's life for me the second city life update

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I haven’t had the best week ever.

On Wednesday, my grandma passed away. I’ll probably write more about that later but it didn’t exactly happen out of the blue and I’m glad that she’s no longer suffering. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only bad thing to happen this week.

On Tuesday, while driving back to my mom’s after attending my dad’s wedding in Baltimore, I got into a pretty bad car wreck. Well, “pretty bad” is putting it mildly. 

Basically, I probably should have died.

I merged onto a highway and the car hydroplaned. I tried to guide the car into the barrier because, hello, highways are scary, but the car was like “SCREW THAT NOISE” and spun out, directly into oncoming traffic. I understandably freaked out and basically I was pretty sure I was dead, that I had killed my sister, and that I had killed everyone else who was barreling towards us.

Miraculously, only one guy hit our car, head-on. The front tire crumpled, which I think finally got us to stop. My sister’s neck got kinda jacked up so we went to the hospital and I got a face-full of hot airbag action. Like, REALLY hot. Like it burned my face and I looked like I went a few rounds with someone much bigger than me (I took some pictures of myself and my sister called them my “Rihanna shots” and I know, that’s distasteful, but we were in a hospital and crying and in shock and we laughed and we’re terrible so shut up).

Keri ended up having to CRAWL OUT OF HER WINDOW and I fell out of my side of the van, which incidentally made everyone who had stopped think I was dead. Luckily, I wasn’t. Again. I need to reiterate how lucky I was.

The other guy is fine too. (Luckily) No one was in his passenger side or else… well… I don’t really wanna think about it.

I’m getting fined by Baltimore for “changing lanes when unsafe” which is like HOLY UNDERSTATEMENT, BATMAN. I went across all four lanes. That is definitely a bit unsafe. And it wasn’t so much “changing lanes” as “CAREENING TOWARDS DEATH AT AN UNCONTROLLABLE SPEED”.

Basically, I don’t understand how I lived through that. I don’t understand how I didn’t get hit 20 times instead of once. I was certain that I was dead. Like, 100% certain. Because I should have been. I saw all of the headlights and everyone was going at least 60 MPH. Yet somehow, only one guy hit us.

When I stumbled out of the van after realizing that by some divine intervention that I wasn’t dead and that the car hadn’t exploded (I had thought it was going to because the airbags were smoking), this man came up to me. I couldn’t feel my face (due to it being burned and all beaten on) and looked at him and sobbed “is my face broken” and he was like “no?” and then I asked “am I bleeding?” and he said “definitely not” and I just started crying, like gross snot-flowing-out-of-my-nose-while-I-hiccup-on-my-own-tears kind of crying, and he hugged me.

This random dude hugged me. He hugged me when I was crying and gross and covered in airbag stuff and rain and glass where I had fallen down.

And then the paramedics came and all that, and I didn’t get to ask him who he was. He just hugged me and left. I actually still remember exactly what he looked like, even though I was pretty squarely in shock. Just, like, he was the one who told me I wasn’t dead. That I hadn’t ruined my face or my life and that my sister was okay.

So yeah, I don’t even know, man.

Besides some smoke inhalation, really bad vertigo whenever I’m in a car, and my face looking kinda messed up, I seem to be okay.

It’s been a weird week. Not the best ever. I’m going to my grandma’s funeral in New York next weekend, but for now I’m trying to remember that it is still technically my birthday weekend.

I turned 26.

I didn’t die.

So sorry to those of you who didn’t get to see me in DC this past week and sorry to the county of Baltimore for trying to break one of their highways.

I promise it wasn’t on purpose.

Filed under i probably won't ever post the picture of my face because i find it upsetting RIP Previa we hardly knew thee actually we knew thee too well

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My Life As A Crazy, Loco-Bananapants Brained Person

I’ve been debating whether or not to post this for a while now but figured, hey, it’s not like anyone who knows me thought I was a regular normal person anyway.

So here’s a story.

I had an interesting thing happen to me the other day – and by “interesting” I mean “kind of horrible.”

I had a panic attack.

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Filed under banana is weirdly difficult to spell anxiety diaries krista gets real panic attack disorder tw: panic attacks anxiety GAD

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I’m sick, so have a review I wrote at three in the morning

In the past, I’ve had people ask me “Krista, why don’t you review movies ever? You seem to have a lot of opinions about them.”

Well, unnamed human person, I’ll tell you why - my reactions to movies don’t tend to be anything but the rambling incoherent thoughts of someone whose brain has been imploded by awesomeness. Because I am not a passive movie-goer.

I get waaaay into it.

Just ask anyone who saw Prometheus with me. I didn’t even care about the majority of the characters but I still cringed into a self-protecting stress ball whenever someone was gonna die. Why? Because I love movies. I love them. I have a sick, sad, overly-involved love of them.

I also love Batman.

So since people don’t seem convinced when I state that I am “not good at writing reviews because my fan brain goes haywire”, I’ve decided to post my review of The Dark Knight Rises.

WARNING: It’s been a while since the movie came out, but there are spoilers ahead. Massively incoherent spoilers. There is also major nerdery. Like comic book griping. And mentions of Star Wars. And the fact that it was written at three in the AM.

Enjoy.

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Filed under the dark knight rises krista shouldn't be allowed to write movie reviews batman nerding out this is way too long

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People Need To Grow Up About Rape Jokes

Okay, whoa, inflammatory title alert! It’s not what you think. Well, probably not, anyway.

 

I can’t really claim to know what you’re thinking/assuming. You might even be spot on.

 

 I don’t know your life.

 

Anyway, I’ve had a lot of people ask me recently about my thoughts on what happened with Daniel Tosh this past week (in case you’re unfamiliar with the situation, here’s an article that goes into far greater detail than I care to). They seem curious to hear my thoughts since I am a self-proclaimed female person, a bratty feminist, and am obsessed with jokes, joke-writing, and the people who do such things.

 

Frankly, what’s most depressing to me is that I’m not really shocked about what happened. At most I thought, “man, it sucks that girl was subjected to that” and pretty much went on my way. Why? Well, because I a) don’t think he’s funny, b) he’s exhibited some pretty douchetastic behaviors in the past in regards to women and rape and c) he’s so far up his own rectum in regards to these issues that he and his legion of brofans are blind to said douchetasticness.

 

So yeah. Not surprising. Or shocking.

 

What I HAVE found both surprising and shocking is how people have been reacting – which is to say a fair number of people (including comedians I love and respect and not just the brofans) have been defending him. For Tosh to be a careless jag about it, not upsetting. For people to jump to his defense because “that’s what comedy is about”? Upsetting. Super upsetting.

 

Let’s talk about why this is upsetting.

 

#1 - I am (as aforementioned) a female lady person and am offended due to that female ladyness*.

 


I’ve been hearing the argument that rape is “a part of the real world” and to expect comedians to not make comedy about it is “naive.”

 

All I gotta say to that is… whoooooooooa. Hold up, champ. Are you bros really preaching to women that rape is a reality?

 

Sorry – that noise you just heard was me hysterically laughing a la the Joker before punching a wall with my face.

 

Uh, women deal with rape being a reality EVERY DAMN DAY, which might be why we’re such humorless fun-killing joke-murdering hags about the subject. We get that rape is a real thing. We’re not being precious little snowflowers about the issue. We’re not going “noooo, don’t say the r-word! That’s icky!” No. That is not what’s happening. Don’t be delusional. It makes you seem like a jackhole.

 

I honestly don’t think the issue of rape should be totally off-limits (because I personally exist in this weird grey area where I like to keep my mind open) but I still wanna be sensitive to people who think it should be. They’re entitled to their opinions and, well, they’ve earned it in all likelihood. I get it.

 

Because you see, a lot of people who happen to have vaginas (and a large number of humans who don’t) find rape offensive because they have been raped. Or have come close. Or have been sexually assaulted. It’s a pretty high statistic. One in six women, actually.

 

Hilarious, right?

 

I’m lucky enough to not be in the rape statistic, but I have been sexually assaulted. So sometimes when dudes ride in on their little cavalier horses of condescension being all “rape is a reality,” I pretty much just want to punch them in the nads. Because that’s also a reality of life. If you’re an idiot, I get to punch you in your baby pouches.

 

See? Reality is a hoot.

 

Ha ha.

 

But let’s get to another reason why this issue really bugs me.

 

#2 - as someone who loves comedy, I find rape jokes really, insanely lazy.

 

There’s this sort of sensibility that if we take away a comedian’s right to shock people, then we’re robbing him (or her) of their free speech and that this essentially kills comedy.

 

I get that fear. It’s a legit fear. However, I think that mentality shows a fundamental misunderstanding of what is actually funny** and why we’re having this discussion.

 

There’s offensive humor (where you would say “I CAN’T BELIEVE HE SAID THAT”) and then challenging humor (where you would say “OH MAN, THERE GOES MY WORLDVIEW! THIS IS ORIGINAL AND I AM PLEASED”). I maintain that offensive humor is lazy. Why is it lazy? It’s like catchphrase humor. You’ve got a formula: if I say x, y, z people will be horrified into laughing. Or be angry. It’s not that hard. You literally just say the worst things you can think of.

 

Plenty of comedians I love use offensive humor. I mean, I can’t blame them. Writing is hard. Being original? Very hard. So sometimes you gotta have filler and sometimes that filler is calling someone an abortion or saying how “raping a hooker is just like shoplifting***”.

 

Do I laugh? Eh. It depends. Some people say such things with enough self-awareness or irony that I can laugh. Sometimes I love someone so blindly that I’m willing to accept their more questionable comedy. Sometimes I just groan or roll my eyes. Sometimes I get upset.

 

I’m not a 100% infallible feminist on my quest for justice at all turns in my life. That’s exhausting. So I let myself enjoy things and sometimes that involves going “oh well” at certain questionable moments.

 

But then there’s challenging humor. Where people will have a totally different take on an idea, sometimes on an offensive topic. Where it isn’t just “oh man, that’s messed up” jokes, it actually is incisive and interesting and awesome. Try Louis CK for example - he covers A LOT of taboo subjects but he does it in an incredibly original way. Chris Rock, Maria Bamford, Chelsea Peretti, Patton Oswalt, George Carlin - they all are (or were) good at doing this. Being creative with a taboo subject.

 

My issue is that Daniel Tosh isn’t creative. He is a Jeff Dunham. People just go “OH SNAP” and laugh even though it’s dumb. It’s a knee-jerk. And that’s his entire shtick.

 

It’s lazy.

 

That’s what it boils down to. It is LAZY. Irritatingly lazy! And the fact that people are defending (in very vicious ways) his right to be a lazy jackhole is what gets me.

 

Aw, boo, are we taking away your lazy rape joke crutch?

 

Is that upsetting to you?

 

How about you change it up and try being actually funny for once. Shocking, I know, but I would assume you’d like that.

 

I’m not telling people to necessarily censor themselves, but I don’t think it’s insane to ask that they give these jokes a modicum of thought and recognize them as being lazy and not a symbol of all that is precious about comedy.

 

Also, try to remember that if everyone on your side that agrees with you is pretty much a carbon copy of yourself****, you might be in the wrong.

 

In conclusion: grow up about your rape jokes. Either make it funny for real, or try out some new material that isn’t holding up the status quo and actually challenges people. Maybe try taking a tiny little looksie from the female perspective.

 

I swear it won’t make you a pussy.

 

 

* I actually have plenty of bros who have been offended as well, so this isn’t contingent to having ladyparts but sometimes it does inform things a little differently.

 

** humor is subjective, blah blah blah, I get it, I know, please shut up.

 

*** this is an actual joke I have heard actual people tell. I tried to find someone telling it during their stand-up routine but then I got sucked into the darkest abyss of the internet and gave up due to depression.

 

**** isolated exceptions don’t count. Much like how having one black friend doesn’t make you not racist.

Filed under feminism: yay! daniel tosh tosh.0 rape jokes serious discussions (like what is funny) comedy is serious business tosh laugh factory depressing situations

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A brief life update and a story about (not) meeting Michael Shannon

As many of you may have pointed out (or posted or angrily yelled at me to my face), I have not made a post in “forever” and I “might as well have been dead” for all you knew. While hyperbolic, you do have a point.

Basically, I’ve been busy. Very, very busy. Unfortunately, eventually obtaining a career in writing butt jokes takes some investment so I’ve been working quite a bit. I also moved to a new neighborhood with two lovely new roommates (Chelsea and Emily, though Chelsea will be replaced with another Chelsea at the end of July), had my sister visit (which was awesome), gone to Missouri, and gotten a second job. Hence all the working.

My second job is at Potbelly where I work as a sandwich architect and pickle-slinger (pickle-slinger is the official term for what I do. Look it up. Oh, you did? And it isn’t? Crap. I guess I’ll have to cancel those business cards where I also describe myself as a “joke monger).

Besides that, my life has just been trucking along. I’ve been watching Breaking Bad so if I die from a heart attack, please bill Vince Gilligan because he murdered me with stress. But don’t convict him. I died a happy death.

I’ve entered term 4 of my writing classes and I’ve written over 20 sketches by now - some of which are not terrible! So that’s always something. I’ve also participated in many serious conversations about Jokes and What Is Funny? and When Farts Are Hilarious (Answer: Always).

Since I can’t think of other things to blab about, I’ve decided to share a story with you about a slice of Chicagoan life that I experienced recently. Like most stories about my life, it revolves around me being physically awkward and embarrassing myself, so I hope you enjoy:

There’s this bar we go to after class right outside of Second City called The Ale House. It’s an interesting dive bar - there are half-naked pictures of various (supposedly) famous people covering every surface of the walls, including one of Mitt Romney posing coyly in his “Mormon underwear” (note: I don’t believe this underwear is underwear that any actual Mormon would be caught dead in).

Pitchers are ten dollars and they allow outside food and it’s filled with a hodgepodge of furniture, ranging from dining room tables and chairs to what I suspect was once a church bench. It’s frequented by a lot of the students from Second City and it has a sort of dank but friendly atmosphere that I think might attract the comedic type.

Anyway, one thursday we were there, probably discussing the merit of butt jokes, when I saw someone tall wander past. Someone very tall, like a lumbering sasquatch only inside, less hairy, and (probably, I don’t want to malign Big Foot) much better-looking.

"That dude looks like Michael Shannon," I remarked to one of my classmates.

"Who?" he asked.

I went on to explain how Michael Shannon was in Take Shelter, that movie I never shut up about and how he was robbed during awards season. This quickly devolved into a rant about Brokeback Mountain (as I am wont to do whenever I start complaining about the Oscars) and soon no one was listening to me and I needed to use the restroom.

I made my way to the bar’s fascilities - the men’s room is adjacent to the ladies - and I saw to my relief that my designated bathroom was open.

Score.

But before I could reach my destination, the men’s room door opened and out stepped Michael Shannon.

The Michael Shannon.

Like it was actually him.

He was as tall as the mighty redwood and really good-looking in person. Shocked into silence, I stared at him. Like an idiot. He stared back because I was standing in his way, staring at him. And then I noticed that he was still zipping up his fly. This made sense, seeing as he had just exited the bathroom.

Unfortunately, I didn’t glance up quickly enough and, when I did, he was looking at me in confusion and borderline disgust.

He had noticed me noticing.



So I did what any sane person would do; I grinned at him at a way that I hoped was playful but really just came across as psychotic and threatening, did NOT yell “ILOVETAKESHELTER” at his now-terrified face like I had been planning, and bodily threw myself into the bathroom where I locked the door and tried to convince myself that he didn’t think I had been staring at his crotch.

And that is how I didn’t meet Michael Shannon.

Filed under tales of awkward woe i am terrible at human interactions michael shannon take shelter chicago chicagoland

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I’d like to say that this sort of statement feels antiquated and like my experience thus far in Chicago has taught me that comedy has come a long way in regards to women.

And, in a sense, it has. Tina Fey has blazed a trail in recent years, as have people like Amy Poehler and Kristen Wiig.

They’re hilarious. They’re women. Their uteruses don’t impede their ability to be funny and, sometimes, it even helps drive their point of view and makes them more hilarious.

My relationship with gender and comedy is a frustrating one. I’m a feminist, this is true, but I have never been a “man-hater”. I know that having a sense of humor and being a feminist seems to be incongruous to a lot of people, but bear with me. I have problems with societal patriarchy, not with dudes in general. Some of the best people I know are dudes, seeing as half of my friends are male and I don’t tend to associate with irredeemable jerkwads. Anyway, continuing on…

I don’t really consider myself that different from men, as far as sensibilities go. My sense of humor can often be sicker than any of my male counterparts’ and, yeah, I gush about baby animals but I’ve also seen Shaun of the Dead over 25 times. I’m not super girly, but I am female in a way that, in spite of some efforts when I was younger, I cannot seem to shake. But that has very rarely been something that shapes my sense of humor - a sense of humor that has been influenced by both my mother and my father, my sister, my friends both male and female (and everything in between), the comedy I ingest (mostly male because that’s how this world works but with some solid ladies sprinkled throughout), and my own life experiences. Gender has had relatively little to do with it.

But then little things bother me - the guys in my class are great, but they are still overwhelmingly… well… male. They’ve got the male perspective that doesn’t get challenged all that much. While I’ve always had to learn how to identify with characters who don’t share my background (how many female nerd heroes were on the scene until Tina Fey? Before her, the closest thing I had was Daria), many of these guys haven’t. They’ve always had fictional dudes with dude problems living a dude life with whom they could identify. Which is when we encounter The Problems.

Problem #1 has been that the women they write are invariably “token” characters*.

Okay… lady people, since roughly the 60’s, have been trying to drive home the idea that in spite of the obvious drawbacks of having ovaries and silly hormones and sillier feelings, we are still people. We are not lady pilots. We are pilots. We are not lady doctors. We are doctors. We are not lady firemen. We are firefighters.

Unfortunately, the trope usually dictates that, as lady people, we fall into certain roles in order to justify our existence in fiction. Therefore we function as people who have jobs that usually belong to ladies (ie waitress, stewardess, nurse) or as the foil aka, as I like to put it, the “spoilsport**” to the male characters (ie the nagging wife, girlfriend, mistress, chick in class who takes gender roles and patriarchal constructs too seriously).

Now, this is a problem and it is one that pervades our culture to a crazy degree. See, last I checked, us lady people not only make up half the population here on Earth, we actually make up MORE than half the population. Also, we’re not lady people. We’re person people. See, people have this pesky habit of being multidimensional and of having their own motivations, rather than just acting out roles or being the foil.

I wouldn’t care so much except for how much I do and for how often I get asked by my male counterparts, “Krista, how do I write women?”

I originally shot back a very acerbic and not nearly kind enough response of, “Well, ____, just take a human, strip them of their personality, make them a prop, and add a vagina.”

Again, not kind and not patient since it’s always been asked in earnest curiosity. Because I guess I’ve mistakenly lead my friends to think that I’d be an expert on such things.

But now I’ve started to respond with, “Write a person. We’re actually persons, you know, instead of being like this weird elusive woman version of a person you guys seem to think we are. We have jobs beyond waitressing and usually can engage in normal conversations, much like I am with you now. If you have written an entire cast that’s all dudes, try changing not only one but TWO of them to ladies. Unless they’re at a strip club but even then, you know, use your imagination.”

So it seems easy when I break it down like that. Because it really should be. But, alas, it isn’t. 

Because I still hear stuff about “female comedy” and they’re not referring to comedy that purely has to do with bodily functions concerning menstrual cycles. If it was, I would agree that that sort of comedy is lame. I mean, “haha, my uterus sheds a layer once a month that leaves me in horrible pain and renders me almost useless from both a social and physical standpoint for days on end!”

For the most part, that isn’t funny. It sucks and is gross (of course, I say this as a person who finds most bodily functions horrifying and would be glad to spend the rest of my days in a much less messy robot body).

Also, it is a tired old joke. “Oh, my hormones make me irrational! Blargh, I am a she-beast ruled by primal biological imperatives! I must feed on the carcases of chocolate rabbits in order to appease my isochronal demons that demand a sacrifice! Men just don’t understand! I wish John Hamm could ride in on a horse made of bacon to whisk me away from my lazy husband/boyfriend who doesn’t understand my needs because I’m a woman and I crave attention and money and only love cuddling and complaining! Waaah!”

But no, “female comedy” seems to be “normal comedy” but through this sort of female lens. If a dude talks about hilarious relationship stuff, he’s just doing stand-up. If a woman does it, she’s telling woman jokes. Dude talks about his kids, it’s an anecdote. Lady talks about her kids, then she’s harping on about “motherhood” or something equally boring and womanly.

And so it goes.

This extends to writing too - if there was a way for me to write under some androgynous pen name in order to avoid anyone viewing my writing as being too much about “women’s issues”, I would. Honestly. Because otherwise you find that you’re either censoring yourself too much or embracing the fury and blasting your lady-rage in everyone’s faces. I guess I’d always choose the latter over the former but, then again, I am a jerk at heart.

So yeah. I get frustrated. Sometimes I get annoyed when I feel like I have to have a forceful personality to get along in a room full of dudes while also trying to be funny without being mean and being known as the life-ruining B-word. And then I have to be patient. Because a lot of times, these comedian bros of mine are honestly interested in embracing the female point of view and in accepting me as a peer. They just don’t really get how either is supposed to work and now they’re looking to me at times to help them figure such things out.

And I’m happy to, really. It just would be much, MUCH easier if I felt like I was this shining pinacle of sparkling wit and hilarity and a perfect feminist, but I’m not. I’m someone who is prone to anger and deflects more often than she embraces, which is probably why comedy seems to be a fit for me. I get annoyed when I think someone is missing the obvious which is silly, because nothing is obvious to everyone all the time.

So maybe my experiences are an isolated incident, but I don’t think they are. I think women are still struggling to stop being seen as lady people instead of just regular folk, no matter the vocation. And yeah, sometimes I’m going to get irritated by it and sometimes I’m going to be disappointed by it and sometimes I’m going to be justifiably indignant with rage about it, but I’ve pretty much accepted that reality.

I can’t change it with my sheer force of will or by pretending it’s not there. I’m a trying to be a lady comedic writer, so I guess I’m just gonna have to do my best with what I’m given, fight when I can, and feast on chocolate carcases when I can’t.

*I’d just like to say, for clarity’s sake, that this is not a problem that plagues all the guys in my class or even all male writers in general. I’m just saying that it is a problem that I have witnessed far too often for it to be a totally coincidental, so much so that I have seen it multiple times in a fairly small class. And on TV. Constantly. Like almost every TV show. Barf.

**If I see another CBS comedy where the lumpy leading man’s hot wife is some harpy shrew whose only interaction with other women is to complain about their equally lumpy husbands (probably of a slightly different but equally homogenized racial background), I am going to set my TV on fire. And I don’t even own a TV.

(Source: bossypants, via magdolenelives)

Filed under opinions ahoy! comedy is serious business lady thoughts in my lady brain feminism chicagoland jane curtin i am jealous of your face and chevy... i hope one day you're less of a jerk but i won't hold my breath

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Happy Easter!

My mom texted me a few days ago to let me know she had sent me a package - something that was greatly appreciated given that I had called her at the beginning of the week due to feeling like a sad sadface.

Yesterday before work, I received said package only I didn’t have time to open it. So I left it as something to look forward to for when I returned.

When I opened the package some 10 hours later, this is what I found:

"What in the world?" I asked my empty apartment.

Basically, my adorable mother sent me cheese and fruit and nuts in really pretty boxes for Easter*. After a long day at work, I couldn’t stop laughing at how random and sweet such a gift was, though then I started to miss my family quite a bit.

My mom is one of those people who just happens to be one of the most genuinely kind people I have ever known in my life. She is CONSTANTLY trying to help everyone all the time because she actually wants to. Something which I sometimes feel the urge to curb, mainly out of a sense of being protective of her.

She (along with my father) has also been charged with the fairly thankless task of always trying to make sure I’m not a terrible person which, given my natural tendencies to be cynical or a misanthrope, has never been easy. Yet she still perseveres. She still is the woman who told me to not call people Nazis, because Nazis were people too and weren’t evil.

Anyway, thank you mom.

*we’ll say the food symbolically represents different Easter-y things

Filed under happy easter! family matters