Tag Archives: major bummers

Men Who Hate Women

Too bad I didn’t have this WW crown when I was working there. I could have summoned my inner Amazonian and kicked his ASS!

{Apologies to Stieg Larsson for borrowing his original book title}

I’ve had my mind on comics and comic book stores a lot lately, and so I’ve been thinking about the BEST job I ever had, ever. But because of one guy, it was also one of the most horrible workplace environments, ever.

In the mid-90s, I took a second job at a comic book/collectibles store to make extra money, and to try to forget about how bad my once-awesome-but-now-terribly-corporate video store job had gotten. I used to buy my comics there, and had discussed my rampant Clive Barker obsession with the owner several times, as he always seemed to have several signed books, figurines, etc. (as I found out later, he was good friends with Clive! SCORE). So, when I mentioned that I was looking for something part-time, he thought it would be awesome to have a chick working there who knew her stuff. It was a quick hire. I don’t even remember an interview, really. I had become so chummy with most of the staff that they already knew and liked me.

All of them I guess, except one.

For the purposes of this story, I will just call him “Dick.” It seems appropriate.

Dick had relocated to the fair city of Lynnwood from some small town in the mid-West, and as I came to find out, hated women. Not just a little, a lot. Or maybe it was just me? I guess I never quite figured it out. In any case, Dick was polite and accommodating when other employees or the manager/owner was around, but as soon as we were the only two in the store, he would have me do the most insane things, backed up with the excuse that “the owner” wanted it done. Continue reading

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How to Sing Karaoke, Sober

Not an actual representation of me on stage, but I am most definitely drunk in this photo.

Okay, that title is a bit misleading. Because it sounds like this entry will be a primer on how-to do something, and it’s something I’m not even sure I can do. But, seeing how it’s the eve of the big Three Imaginary Girls 10th Anniversary Rockstar Karaoke New Wave Bash, I felt like I had to write something about how my massive stage fright might hamper my desire to get up there and belt out a few tunes.

See, I suffer from this thing called “being old.” And yes, I know I’m not that old. And yet, for some reason, the combination of three things has a tendency to make me very, very, very ill: standing for extended periods of time + being out late + booze. Basically, if I’m out at a show, drinking even the littlest bit of alcohol is like injecting poison straight into my veins.

Even like 1 glass of cider can make me feel like I’m going to hurl all night—waking me up about every 30 minutes to stumble into the bathroom, praying I can eject whatever is making me feel HORRRIBLE as quickly as possible.

After asking my doctor 100x why this is, she said, definitively, and for the 100th time, “You’re just getting old, my dear.” Auuugh. Really? I mean, I realize I probably ruined my bladder with all that Bacardi and Jose Cuervo in the 80s (and 90s … and 2000s) but COME ON (wo)MAN. Continue reading


Doubt and Stress don’t make for Productivity

Let's all make the Kermit face at doubt.

Oh look! It’s time for one of those posts where I explain that I know I have a personal blog that I said I was going to update frequently, but haven’t for over two weeks. And uh, well. I could make a ton of excuses, but the biggest one is that I’ve been doubting myself lately. Doubting my ability to write something good, doubting my ability to do what I know I can do, and do it well, and doubting the fact that I’m good enough in pretty much all areas of my life right now.

Basically, I’ll sit down to start writing about something, and then I’ll get about 2 paragraphs in, think it sucks, and shelf it. This has probably happened about 20 times in the last few weeks, which means I have 20 unfinished pieces of writing sitting on my desktop, waiting for the inspiration to finish them.

I know a lot of that is stress: wondering if I can somehow magically stretch the money I’m making to cover all bills, freaking out about not saying the right thing in cover letters, worrying that it might take a long time to find a FT job, getting frustrated about the fact that I don’t feel 100% better, and some days the uncomfortable-ness and twinges from surgery drive me ABSOLUTELY crazy.

And honestly, although I love my city, Seattle’s weather isn’t exactly helping right now.

But! I am starting to feel the twinges of that inspiration again — and slowly starting to believe in myself. You know how it is, sometimes, you just need a little nudge. In the meantime, I wanted to give all y’all who have been reading and commenting a heads up so you know I don’t intend to leave this blog just sitting here, vacant, after a pretty aggressive start.

Thank you for reading and commenting. And thank you for the sweet notes of encouragement I’ve received. It’s really awesome, you guys, and I promise (again) not to quit.


Of Hysterectomies and Granny Panties

This is my surgery face! Ridiculous hats are required when checking into the hospital.

{note: I wrote this awhile ago – it’s just taken me some time to decide when I was ready to post it} 

“Your uterus is a mess.”

That was the first thing the surgeon said to me when she walked into the room where I was waiting patiently, trying not to cry. The second was, “This is going to be a very difficult conversation to have.” Great. Way to make me panic, doc.

Most people assume that as a woman who has made it to 40 without having kids means I’m anti-kid, but in reality it’s more like I was anti-having kids with anyone other than my current boyfriend. I love Jonathan so goddamn much that within a few weeks of falling for him, my brain was all, “Hey! I want to have this guy’s babies!” followed by a “WHAT. DID. YOU. JUST. SAY??!!?”

But the thought has only grown more and more important since I realized that if we were going to do this thing, a decision had to be made soon—since my reproductive lady parts would basically be expiring in a few years. Exploratory talks with my family doctor about birthing babies seemed promising. She was optimistic that when the time came, everything should be good to go…uh, until she discovered something foreign in there, which resulted in many (very long, and very scary) tests, and then, unfortunately, a visit to a specialist.

Continue reading


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