political heartburn

Horking down this four-ounce ball of burrata at 11:40 at night with the same gusto I ate take-out less than three hours ago is embarrassing; at least with the Thai food I had the excuse of ‘I haven’t eaten since yesterday and I’m still hungover.’

This burrata is my solo culinary pleasure since no one at my house really appreciates a creamy cottage cheese encapsulated by perfect, seasoned, tender and fresh mozzarella cheese skin.

Though, I’ll give them this one: typing ‘cheese skin’ did give me a bit of the willies.

I like to drizzle of lovely bit of olive oil, fancy sherry vinegar that costs too much but goddamn do I love it, flaky Murray river salt, dill, sometimes basil.

It’s fabulous – five stars, it’s like a creamy hug that doesn’t have a disclaimer because it sounds gross but truly isn’t.

Creamy hug? Cheese skin? We can only go up from here folks!

Back to the midnight cheese. Should I be eating essentially a 1/4# chunk of fresh cheese as my husband snores beside me? Holy shit, no. Even the Italians would weep. In this special midnight moment I’m choosing just this and a glass of single barrel whiskey, also most assuredly not part of a healthy diet, (especially in the quantities that I’m really committing to) to find some solace.

Alas, emotional eating still has a grip on me and has since election night – I saw a funny video where this gal was touting how this election cycle brings ‘airport rules’ into play: money doesn’t matter, carbs don’t count, want a beer and a Bloody Mary at 9:00am, no judgement! Do it! I have yet to really leave that mindset with all the paralyzing dread, shame, and the general seething rage that makes me think back to all these true crime podcasts I’ve enjoyed in my commutes when I’d exclaim out loud in my car – my god, how could anyone kill someone like that?!

And then we have the American election we just did and now my sociopathic brain says: got it. Mmkay. It’s all making sense now.

Now that it’s been a week (and what a week it’s been amiright) it’s time to start digging for the bright sides. I want you to know that you’re not alone, I’m a safe person to confide in and trust, that I’m a wonderful baker and if you’d like a quick batch of my famous brioche buns to soothe the soul – let’s chat. I’m here for you as well as the shining optimism that the sky won’t fall and eventually the American people will decide to screw their heads back on so some traffic cone-looking monster can’t keep shitting down their throats.

Unfortunately that last part comes naturally with a renewed vigor and investment in America’s education department, so, it now looks like all these dum dums might remain dum dums, but it’s my sincerest hope that eventually they’ll be infuriated once they realize their elected president isn’t actually going to make anything better, lest they’re millionaire/billionaires.

I want to discuss a very real silver lining here for women, and I promise it’s not a star spangled banner of awesome hope in our nation or elected officials or party. To hell with Biden and his hubris in attempting a second term, essentially ruining everything. I’m even disappointed in Beyonce – like, I know she was speaking as a mother and as an American blah blah blah – but wouldn’t it have been more impactful if she and Kelly busted out some Destiny’s Child, or a few bars of ‘Freedom’, live? Maybe that could’ve saved this election with all those damn young voters that ignored their mail-in ballot because their favorite streamer/influencer was too busy talking about collagen or mouth-taping or stitching stupid arguments for money with no purpose but distraction.

Sigh.

The joy I’m about to change your life with goes to my fellow women (not the trash that voted ‘yes’ to this turd sandwich) who don’t mind a fight. The real joy I want you to find is that you can quit it. Stop being ‘that cool girl’ that abides. Fuck ‘em.

It sounds simple and I can hear your dissociating thoughts now – huh? It’ll take a second but the liberation is astounding.

I had this Epiphone last Thursday morning when the results were really sinking in and I believe at the time, I was choking back tears during the first twenty minutes of my normal 45 minute commute to my job on a liberal college campus. I wasn’t doing a very good job so let’s just be honest and admit that I was simply pouring tears, the second woman on the highway I’d seen doing just that.

Parts of my commute include a two-lane highway where the speed limit is 70 mph, and despite my horrific car accident I do pretty well on this road now, having travelled it daily for eleven months. I’ll hit seventy no problem, and tend to go 80+ if it’s clear. If anyone rears up behind me in a hurry I’ll usually oblige and move to the right to get out of their way… admittedly the right thing to do.

On this morning however, while I’m speeding in the left lane already, a stupid dude in a Tesla screamed up behind me and was tailgating so hard I couldn’t see the headlights. He flashed his beams, he was super on my ass in a pretty shitty way, and for the first time in my life I decided that even if I was late to work I wouldn’t give that motherfucker one inch. With the most focused mantra of ‘fuck ’em’ whirling through my head like some kind of lazy beat poetry, I stayed in front of that guy the whole of my drive. Shame he couldn’t pass me with my singular focus to box him in using cars in the other lane.

I did not panic, I did not yell, my heart rate stayed normal. I decided to not engage with my usual compliant, yielding thoughts. Every now and again I looked in the mirror to watch him absolutely losing his marbles; and I take a very real joy that hopefully I ruined his day.

Women as a whole are forever taught to yield, to be compliant, don’t make waves, don’t speak your mind for fear of danger. The danger is very real, too. Two weeks ago me could probably brush off some daily misogyny or when a fella made the fool error of interrupting me, every now and then I’d let the fella have that argument, let him think that he was right sometimes because genuinely – life is short, why rock the boat. Nothing is ever so important as to choose confrontation and argument when we can all live in a society of give and take to make our daily interactions more peaceful.

Now, I’ve got tactical SAP gloves and one of those one-pound master locks in my car to keep on me, just in case. The revolution can start with me and with my head in the place that it is, I’ll fucking finish it too.

Sixty million plus assholes chose the rapist over an accomplished, eloquent, experienced woman. I’m fully aware now that it was never about Hillary’s emails back in 2016, it was never the issue of her security. It was just her damn pronoun, her gender. The Republican party could’ve propped a dead corpse up reanimated by a stack of racoons and the racoons still would’ve won in a landside against Hillary or Kamala because I now fully believe that America’s misogyny will never taper off enough to get a woman in charge of our collective.

I do hate that, I take no joy in knowing that most men don’t actually believe in women, that right now it would even appear that they hate us. The new rhetoric flashing around X is a white boy, Connor/Tanner/Blake war cry: “Your body, my choice. Forever.” I won’t make room or excuses that as a result, now, my rhetoric is fuck men – fuck them absolutely.

If you’re a woman, I want you to feel glee the first time you hold unwavering eye contact with a man that wants to argue you, or talk you down, or take up your space – don’t back down or make yourself smaller. Our biggest gain now, and please follow me here in the spirit and light of good news: you’re free. You’re free to take up as much space, to boldly say no and correct them, to argue and not back down. I want you to hold that gaze uncomfortably long and not say a damn word. Let him be uncomfortable, in fact welcome that for them. No longer do you have to accommodate the spirit of ‘niceness’ because it doesn’t, and has never mattered. They’ve never been on your side, they’ve never cared about your rights, they will never give you the keys to the castle, you are property and will be treated as such.

Sap gloves in the car, a master lock in my purse. When we fear nothing we can be truly free, right?