Dealing With a Broken Ankle: Things You Need

I recently broken my tibia and fibula and required ORIF surgery to fix it. I’m 37 days out from the break, and I have been documenting the process. I figured some of the most helpful stuff I’ve learned has been figuring out what I need to buy, so here we go (plus I can’t work for months, so I could use the Amazon affiliate clicks, thank you <3).

1) iWalk 2.0 Peg Leg Crutch


This shit changed my life. My doctor saw it and said she doesn’t recommend it to patients because you have to have a lot of balance to use it, and she’s probably right. It definitely takes some getting used to, and my background pre-injury was SoulCycle, Solidcore, and CrossFit everyday. But I don’t think you need to be super fit to use it. You finally have access to your HANDS! I was even able to move a love seat. The downside is that it is a pain in the ass to put on and take off, so if I’m at a restaurant I’ll usually hop on one foot to the bathroom, and if I’m at home I’ll use something else.

2) An Office Chair

Any office chair with wheels will do — my mom gave me an old one from her house. It’s like the one thing that will keep you from losing your mind in your house. The real trick is to push yourself backwards. This also works well if you’re on crutches and end up at a store that doesn’t have electric scooters, but does have office chairs.

3) Padding and Socks for Your (Inevitably Shitty) Walking Boot

The only time I was really in pain was when I got my Aircast. As I write this I’m still in the Aircast and no weight bearing, and I have finally pieced together how to make it slightly less miserable: gel padding for lace bite and ankles, plus thick stretchy medical socks. Don’t bother trying to use normal socks: Smartwool doesn’t stretch enough, and you’re going to ruin whatever socks you use with the velcro from the Aircast.  

4) Gel Dot Ice Pack

These are soft on one side so I just apply it to my skin without having to wear socks — no idea if that’s what you’re supposed to do, but it’s so nice to not have my skin covered for a little while.

5) Smart Outlet

I live in a basement and rely on a space heater, so some nights I’d freeze or roast if the temperature changed once I was already in bed. Getting up sucks. Also good for plugging in a lamp, coffee pot, or humidifier. It’s a shame there aren’t $17 smart windows.

6) Amazon Fresh
Grocery shopping sucks. Amazon Fresh usually lets you do a 30 day free trial, so I like them better. Obviously the best situation is a loved one goes and buys your groceries and puts them away for you, but if you live alone like me, this is the best you can get. The only benefit I’m eligible for is SNAP, and no online delivery service takes it. On the plus side, if you are also out of work and have no benefits, it takes like a month for your SNAP application to process, so that’s roughly as long as your free trial of Fresh!

7) Toilet Paper Holder with Shelf

I don’t know where you store your toilet paper or tampons, but I promise you won’t be able to reach them. Get the biggest one of these that will fit in your bathroom, and then put an extra roll of TP on it for good measure.

8) Leg Condom

Don’t bother trying to do the garbage bag thing. If your cast gets wet, it’s going to get moldy, and that’s nasty. Just spend the $20.

9) Shower Stool

I love bathing, and having one of these means you can shower alone. Woo! I’ve seen some people say they used an outdoor plastic chair, but it’s so much easier to get in and out without the handles. Mine has handles, and I immediately took them off since they were in the way (I have a tub, not a standalone shower).

10) Soft Grey Boot Thing

The Aircast walking boot is some garbage and hurt so bad I couldn’t leave my bed. My doctor gave me the Aircast and a sad little stirrup brace to sleep in, so I bought this grey boot off Amazon and I wear it with the stirrup when I’m around my house (even with all the new padding in my Aircast, extended periods with it on are painful).

11) Table With Wheels

I have a love/hate relationship with this table: I hate it in general, but I’m so glad I have it. I would rather use a real desk, but that’s hard to do from bed or the couch — plus with this, I can stick my foot straight out onto a stool.

If you enjoy my writing, please consider contributing to my GoFundMe or Patreon since I’m out of work indefinitely! You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.
Broken Ankle Week 1
Broken Ankle Week 2


Broken Ankle Blog Week Two: ORIF Surgery, Isolation, Depression, and Sleeplessness

I recently broke my ankle, and it has truly sucked. I have found it helpful to read blog entries written by others who have gone through this, so I thought I would do the same here. I discussed my first week in a prior entry; to briefly recap the date I fell was 2/13 and I broke my tibia and fibula.

February 20: 7 Days After Falling

I was scheduled for surgery on 2/21, and I think the 20th is when the emotional impact really started to hit me. I had my impacted wisdom teeth taken out when I was 20, but I refused to be knocked out (thanks to a bike accident when I was a kid, I don’t really feel pain in my mouth). I was riddled with anxiety and watched all of Russian Doll, finally falling asleep around 4 am.

My new right fibula

February 21: 8 Days After Falling

Surgery day! I woke up in a pretty bad mood, and since I was told I could have either one cup of black coffee or one glass of water, I was additionally cranky from my lack of caffeine.

My door was not exactly being beaten down by helpful friends, and functioning on my own was really beginning to wear on me. Try doing dishes or cooking while sitting on an office chair. I was starting to feel like no one gave a shit about me, and that was intensified by the fact I had to take a Lyft from DC to Virginia for surgery.

My parents were both at the hospital waiting for me, and my mom went back with me when they called my name. The woman who had to give me an IV probably hated me — my questions were things like, “when can I wax my right knee again?”and “how often do people pee themselves during surgery?” They told me I could take my Adderall that morning but recommended against it, so I was all over the place with my thoughts. But by the time the anesthesiologist came to take me the surgery area, I was pretty focused on how panicky I felt. When he asked me what I was afraid of, I told him that Tom Brady got an infection and he’s way richer than I will ever be. He rolled his eyes, and the last thing I remember before passing out was him talking about why Brady’s infection didn’t relate to my situation.

They gave my cast a little hat

When I woke up, I desperately wanted Chipotle, but was told it was “too spicy” because I “would be nauseous.” False. My mom took me to her house, and fed me some soup and a grilled cheese, but I disobeyed all orders and had some spicy nachos delivered. All I’m going to say is I was hungry and there seemed to be no reason that I was not given Chipotle. In the future I will eat whatever I want, because you can tell if you feel sick or not, and I did not. I was also told to wait to shower and to have help with it when I did, and to take the next 3 days easy.

Unfortunately, my feelings of isolation and loneliness only deepened after surgery. While a couple of far away friends reached out, locally that was less the case. My ex boyfriend Thomas (who had very recently dumped me in the most horrific fashion possible) had started calling me before I was even wheeled all the way to the car, and Mark (a guy I had gone out with prior to meeting Thomas), made sure I was alive and sent me a bunch of political tweets to entertain me. Another friend texted me around 11pm. And that was basically it. It didn’t help that I was very hungry (my nachos were not good quality), and continued to be bitter that no one had brought me food. I dealt with this by watching Schitt’s Creek until I fell asleep around 3:30 am, then waking up at 7.

February 22: 9 Days After Falling, 1 Day After Surgery

Worried about my lack of a support system, my friend Brianna had planned to drive down from Rhode Island the day after my surgery and stay on an air mattress in my studio basement apartment. Probably a large part of the reason I’m not dead, whether from a preventable cast accident or intentional, is Brianna.

I stole this sticker from the order pick up desk when the lady went to grab my stuff

Since I had fallen 3 days before I moved, I had personal items at my moms how that I had not been able to pack up. When Brianna got to my mom’s house, she immediately started packing my clothes, boxing up stuff that I had planned on doing — stuff that no one else had helped me with. Since I still didn’t feel any pain, we stopped at Target on the way to my house to grab an online order I had placed. After that, we went to the DMV to get my handicap hangtag (a must if you break your ankle), and then to the police station so we could get a visitor pass for her rental car. I was worried about eventually being in pain (and I wanted to listen to the instructions to take the weekend easy), so that was more or less all we did. Even by the end of the day my skin didn’t feel “normal” to me — whether or not it was still truly numb, I don’t know. I also took a shower (by myself) despite having been told I shouldn’t. I felt fine, and saw no reason why I needed to be smelly.

I was worried about eventually feeling pain, so I took a Vicodin before going to bed. It was my only painkiller of the day.

February 23: 10 Days After Falling, 2 Days After Surgery

I woke up at 3:15 am in intense pain. I took painkillers, cried, passed out very briefly, and repeated that until Brianna was up. She asked me when I last took Ibuprofen, and I told her I had been told that was for low level pain, which I had never felt. She immediately found my Ibuprofen and made me take one, telling me that is what keeps the swelling down, and swelling is what causes pain. Within 20 minutes I felt physically fine. The painkillers I had taken that morning would be the last painkillers I would take for quite a while.

This is the day that financial worries really started to take over for me. I’m a contractor, so if I don’t work, I don’t get paid — and I’m not eligible for benefits of any kind. This was the first time I said, “I wish I had just died,” but it was not the last time. Unable to do anything but “take it easy,” my brain just focused on the work I had already had to call out of, and all the upcoming events I would normally work — the thousands of dollars I would now lose out on. The cost for surgery had been a $525 copay for the facility, $75 for the surgeon, and $75 for the anesthesiologist — to mention the $50 Lyft ride to the hospital. My insurance through DC’s marketplace is $294.14 a month, and that was going to be due in just a few days. At this point, the only way I could get into my house was to sit on my ass and slide down 3 concrete stairs, and the cost of installing a railing was likely to be high. It was too much to handle.

Thomas, my ex boyfriend and most reliable local visitor, showed up with some metal shelves. Opening/using my kitchen cabinets and drawers was nearly impossible on a scooter or chair, so they set the shelves up on my counters and pulled out all the plastic flatware, paper plates, and other items we thought I would need.

February 24: 11 Days After Falling, 3 Days After Surgery

This was day 3 of taking it easy for 3 days. “We have to get the fuck out of here,” I told Brianna. And so we did. We made a plan to exchange her rental car (the one she was driving had expired tags), go to Target, and return to the police station for a new visitors pass. I told her I was going to start recording us and making vlogs and blogs about what I was going through.

This was a Sunday, so I was a little nervous about being out on a weekend and using the knee scooter in a very busy Target. I was right to be nervous! By the time we left, I was ready to run people over with my scooter, back up, and run them over again. If you see someone on a mobility device, don’t just stop walking. Be aware of your surroundings! I have a duck for my scooter, and I quacked it a whole bunch on the first day.

When we got back, we set up a Go Fund Me. I have been amazed and touched at the outpouring of kindness I have received, by people I know, people who are friends of friends, and total strangers. It is miserable and humiliating to have to ask for help, and I am glad that I was able to get over it/myself.

Still no painkillers on this day, just lots of Ibuprofen.

February 25: 12 Days After Falling, 4 Days After Surgery

Another day waking up at 3:15 am. No idea why. The best suggestion most people can make to me is because my painkillers must be wearing off then, but I’m not taking painkillers and I don’t have a set bed time.

Taking care of someone who is hurt is exhausting, and at this point I’m feeling bad that Brianna has to wake up and make me coffee and breakfast every morning. Craving hash browns, I suggested we go down the road to Ted’s, a restaurant that has breakfast food. I wanted to walk (well, scoot), but the wind was so strong I could barely control the knee scooter for the block we had to walk from my house to the car. The restaurant was amazing about accommodating my leg, and even though it was about 8:45 am, they happily served us tomato soup and grilled cheese. I have spent a lot of time judging people based on how they accommodate and help me, and Ted’s has now become a staple in my life because they have been so great about making sure I have an extra seat.

Since the wind was too strong to use the knee scooter, we spent the rest of the day hiding in my house and figured errands could wait for tomorrow. Once again, I didn’t take painkillers, just lots of Ibuprofen

February 26: 13 Days After Falling, 5 Days After Surgery

Sums up my mood on 2/26

This day was too much. Brianna and I had to go back to Virginia to get more things from my mom’s house, and we decided it would be easier to grocery shop in the suburbs, so we went to a Safeway near my mom’s house. Do you know what sucks? Grocery shopping on a knee scooter. Something that could and should have taken 45 minutes took 2 hours. My anxiety was growing because, other than Thomas, I hadn’t really had visitors while Brianna was in town. She was leaving very early in the morning on the 28th, and I was starting to panic about how I was going to function without anyone helping me. This was it. The final grocery trip, the final person to help me cook, the last time someone would drive me somewhere. It scared me, and it added to the isolation and loneliness I was already feeling. This depression and isolation I felt (and still feel) deserves (and will have) its own blog entry, but it still needs to be addressed here. This was the lowest day I have had since I fell.

I had been very open about needing help, but I felt like people were not taking me seriously. Time and time again, I felt like people who should have been there for me instead minimized my injury. Breaking my ankle ruined my life, if only temporarily. And I couldn’t (and can’t) understand why people were not coming to assist me. Was it because I wasn’t in physical pain? Was it because I wasn’t laying in bed and doing nothing? I don’t know. But I know this grocery store trip broke me.

After 90 minutes in Safeway, I realized that I had forgotten something on the other side of the store. I sat down on my scooter, crying. At this point, if I went and did something, it was the only thing I did that day. I just didn’t have enough energy to do a bunch of stuff. And the grocery store was too much.

And poor Brianna. It’s so hard to help someone, especially when you aren’t getting a break. I have no idea how I will ever repay her for her help during this time. Tuesday was skeeball day, and my team played in Virginia. She was willing to drive from Virginia to DC to drop off the groceries, and back to Virginia if I wanted to go play. Ultimately, we decided to stay at my house. Since I couldn’t handle fitted sheets, our plan was for her to wash and change my bedding, and for her to cook a bunch of food that we could freeze. We were 36 hours out from her leaving me, so it was crunch time.

When skeeball ended around 9pm, two of the people I play with messaged me and asked to come by. I told them sure. Brianna seemed relieved at the idea that there would be people to help her do the laundry, move around some of the heavier items, cook, do whatever.

A couple of hours later, they arrived at my house. Brianna continued to cook, clean, and unpack, and they caught me up on how the team did, and shared some dating stories I had missed since being AWOL post-fall. I talked about the recovery map I had ahead of me, and I tried to help Brianna with my fitted sheet (that is the moment I learned I will not be able to do my fitted sheet alone until I have two functioning feet) while we chatted.

Around 1 am, they left. Brianna and I were both already laying in bed, since we had an early morning the next day. I had, once again, woken up at 3:15 am that day, so I was exhausted.

From her air mattress, Brianna expressed great concern over what would happen to me once she left.

And so concluded week 2 of living with one functioning leg.

If you enjoy my writing, please consider contributing to my GoFundMe or Patreon since I’m out of work indefinitely! You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.

Dealing With a Broken Ankle: Week One

I recently broke my ankle, and it has truly sucked. I have found it helpful to read blog entries written by others who have gone through this, so I thought I would do the same here. I’m still at the no weight bearing part of the recovery process, but I have already gone through ORIF and will soon learn how to walk again. There are a lot of physical and emotional problems that surround breaking your ankle, especially if you live alone, work as a contractor without benefits, and are an athlete or frequent the gym. Hopefully this helps anyone searching for guidance!

Day 1: February 13

On February 13th, I was out at a friend’s house and I fell in some mud in the yard. My body went down, but my right foot was stuck in the mud and didn’t fall with me. It was not great. I like…fell, fell. “Help I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” kind of falling. I laid there and screamed for help until someone came because I couldn’t move. My ankle turned black and it looked like someone had shoved a golf ball under my skin.

I already had an appointment for Adderall with my GP on 2/13, so I called and asked to come in earlier. They gave me a script for an x-ray, and I went off to the hospital. At this point we’re about 12 hours out from when I fell, and I was in pain, but mostly just when I was being driven or moving. Every time my foot moved with the car, I could feel that things were not properly connected. The x-rays confirmed what I already knew: my ankle was broken. The paperwork they gave me said that it was a “spiral fracture through the distal fibula with extension into the ankle mortise. Minimal medial angulation at the fracture site. There is also a fracture through the posterior distal tibia with intra-articular extension.”

The x-ray guy told me that my GP told him they had given me a list of orthos. They had not. My father had been with me and neither of us had anything. The guy told me there was an ortho upstairs to try, so we wheeled me on up there. Thankfully my insurance doesn’t require referrals (THANKS OBAMA!!!!), so they took me back around 4.

Everyone had been super nice to me all day, until I saw the ortho. Instead of telling me “it’s 4 months of recovery,” she walked in and slowly started telling me step by step what we were going to do. “First we’re going to put a splint on it!” she said, “and then we’ll do surgery in a week or so.” I didn’t know surgery was even an option on the table, so I got pretty freaked out. Her diagnosis continued that I’d have ORIF surgery the following week (Feb 21), six weeks in a cast without walking (April 4), six weeks in a boot (May 16), and four weeks in a brace (June 13).

I lost my shit. I’m a contractor, so I’m not eligible for paid leave or unemployment insurance — and honestly, probably most people won’t hire me with the boot. So at this point I’m thinking maybe 3 months of being unemployed. Add in two months to get a check, and we’re looking at 0 paychecks for five months. January is pretty slow for me, and mid February is where things start to pick back up. On top of that, my live in boyfriend (who I financially relied on) had just dumped me and kicked me out of the house because his secret girlfriend and child had moved back to DC. On a more emotional note, the only thing that had been motivating me to get out of bed while dealing with my boyfriend drama had been the gym — obviously not an option anymore. I started crying. The ortho asked me what was wrong, and I told her all of that. Her response? “It’s just a few months of your life. You’ll be fine.” COOL.

They put a splint on me and wheeled me out to the waiting area of their office. My dad had to wheel me out of the hospital, which I think they’re supposed to do, but what do I know. We went to CVS and they sold us some crutches through the drive through, along with my painkillers.

Day 2: February 14

I spent the next day super focused on getting a new doctor. I found the best doctor I could find, and set up an appointment for Monday. I took the painkillers because I was afraid of hurting again, but honestly the pain was pretty much gone since they had put the splint on. This was my last day taking them.

Day 3: February 15

I tried to start the journey of getting a knee scooter, and here was what I learned: the stores that my insurance said had scooters did not exist, and to get a scooter covered by insurance, I had to drive like 3 hours away. No thanks. Just order yours on Amazon. I promise I’m saving you so much headache.

By the 15th I wasn’t touching the painkillers, and I was really trying to have a more positive attitude. It still comes and goes, but I have had the fortune of not being in pain. I still don’t know why that’s the case — I hear this is generally quite painful for people.

Day 4: February 16

On day 4, I moved into a studio apartment so I could live alone. No joke. About a month prior, my boyfriend had moved in his new family while we were on a day long date. He drove past the house, said “we have to break up,” and dropped me off at my mom’s. Since he was who I relied on (and we have/had a business together), he had agreed to sign a 3 month lease for me and pay it. Thank. God.

Moving meant going to Target, Bed Bath and Beyond, and the grocery store on crutches. Do you know what sucks? Doing all of those things. I set my crutches to be about 3 inches below where they are supposed to be, and I have never had any pain from them whatsoever. I have no idea why they tell people to set them higher, but I was warned repeatedly that even just using them around my house would hurt me.

Now, I was always moving on the 16th, but the only friend who ever volunteered to help was Justine, an internet friend from NYC. Once I broke my ankle and couldn’t drive, that (disappointingly) didn’t change. I was upset, but did not yet know how incredibly lonely and isolating my injury would prove to be. My mom packed up some of my stuff and took me to my new house. Justine drove down to DC little while after, and was truly a godsend — she unpacked my things, cleaned my floors, the whole nine yards. I have no idea what I would have done without her. If you’ve recently broken an ankle, find a Justine. You’re going to need her.

Day 6: February 18

Still swollen!

Six days after I fell, I finally had my appointment with my ortho (and I got my splint replaced!). Her timeline was a huge improvement: they would do surgery in 3 days, take off my cast and stitches after 2 weeks, and then figure out if I needed to have another cast or if I could move on to a boot. I started to cry again, but this time because I was so happy.

I also tried searching for actual advice about what I could and could not do, or things I would need. Most advice I saw online was to stay in bed for months, and I guess have some magic fairy come pay your bills and take care of you. So let me share some important things with you: get a lot of tiny trash cans for all over house, use an office chair with wheels to fling yourself around, and put jugs of water with spigots that you don’t need to pick up to use.

Day 7: February 19

I play skeeball once a week, and the 19th was supposed to be a skeeball day. I sat and debated on it for a while, and then decided to head out. It was my first time crutching out of my house alone — I live in a basement, so I have a couple of very scary outside steps without a railing to navigate. But I did it! I had a couple glasses of wine and skeeballed on one foot. A couple people told me they would have just stayed home, which might be true, but is depressing. It is lonely enough when you still do leave your house, never mind willingly never going out. If you can leave, do it. If you go do something, it’s probably the only thing you’ll do all day, and that’s fine. But it’s so much better than just sitting around your house!!

And that was the end of my first week. I will say I was much more positive during this week than later on. I truly believed my friends would still go out with me, even if it meant doing low key stuff and coming to my house first. I truly believed people would help me with dishes, cleaning, and laundry. I truly believed my ex would continue to help me out financially. I was a moron.

If you enjoy my writing, please consider contributing to my GoFundMe or Patreon since I’m out of work indefinitely! You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.

Violent Protest is an American Tradition, Part 1

On July 8 1965, CORE led a march in Bogalusa, Louisiana. Like many marches, the Bogalusa march had members of the Deacons for Defense on hand to protect the participants. Deacons Milton Johnson and Henry Austin rode alongside the marchers, keeping an eye on the angry white crowd that followed the march.  At first, police escorts were able to separate the marchers from the racist white people who were heckling them; but as the march neared it’s halfway mark, the growing crowd began to throw rocks and bricks at the marchers. When one of the bricks hit 17 year old Hattie Mae Hill in the head, the crowd of white people got closer to her, ripping at her clothes and hitting her. Medics tried to remove her from the crowd, but they were outnumbered. When Johnson was able to pull her into the safety of the car, the crowd targeted him. A white man named Alton Crowe began beating Johnson through the window of the car.

So Henry Austin pulled out his .38 Smith & Wesson and told the crowd to back off.  When they ignored him, he fired warning shots into the air. And when the group of attackers ignored his warning shots, he fired two shots into the chest of Alton Crowe.

The crowd was ready to kill Austin and Johnson, but they were both immediately arrested. Crowe survived, so Austin and Johnson were both able to make bail. Austin found he returned to Bogalusa a hero — at least to the black population of Bogalusa. White politicians did not share the community’s enthusiasm over Austin’s heroism.

Here is how Lance Hill description of the political aftermath of the Crowe shooting in his book, The Deacons for Defense:

 In the wake of the Crowe shooting, [Governor] McKeithen pursued a “plague on both your houses” strategy toward the Deacons and the Klan. He condemned both the violent racists and the civil rights groups as equally responsible for the Bogalusa crisis. But McKeithen reserved his harshest criticism for the Deacons and failed to even mention the Klan by name. The governor castigated [Deacons leaders] Young and Sims as “cowards” and “trash” and declared that “no decent negroes” were participating in the civil rights marches. McKeithen’s appeasement of the Klan was the rule rather than the exception for white Louisiana politicians.

“I think there is blame on both sides….what about the ‘alt-left’ that came charging at, as you say, the ‘alt-right,’ do they have any semblance of guilt?…You had people that were very fine people on both sides,” said Donald Trump on August 15, 2017, in a press conference discussing the murder of Heather Heyer by white supremacist James Alex Fields.

And the KKK’s response? Hill explains:

“Most whites do not admit it,” wrote the New York Times after the Crowe shooting, “but the Deacons send a chill down their spines.” The truth of this was borne out in subsequent marches. In the days following the shooting the huge mobs of whites disappeared. The Crowe shooting-and an increased police presence-discouraged ordinary whites from attending the Klan’s counter demonstrations. The Klan could no longer organize mass attacks on black demonstrations in Bogalusa. This inability to organize mass direct action protests reduced the Klan to isolated terror tactics and diminished its influence over nonaffiliated segregationists in the mill town.

Sound familiar?

As members of the press like Petula Dvorak write pearl clutching think pieces decrying Antifa’s egg throwing and vehement demands to not be filmed against their wishes, they’re missing a huge historical connection.

Violent protest is an American tradition, and the work of those willing to take on its burden has long been the backbone of the success of the “love and unity” peaceful demonstrators — who often end up being the only ones credited when progress happens.

Though the July 8th march was not the first time the Deacons protected a CORE protest, it was the first time violence had occurred against a white man. The shooting made the white liberals who were funding CORE nervous, and while members of CORE were well aware that some of their activists were alive because of the protection of the Deacons, journalists were instead focused on whether or not CORE had strayed from its ideal of nonviolent action. Ultimately, CORE took the stance that their members would continue to practice nonviolent protest, but they would be potentially protected by private citizens who were armed.

The lesson learned by CORE was that the police couldn’t be trusted to equally enforce the law. In 2018, it isn’t up for debate that people still feel this way, and it’s a hard argument to make that everyone is treated equally. While the FBI is monitoring the home and Twitter account of BLM activist DeRay McKesson, the MPD is guarding white supremacists in front of the White House. Perhaps Dvorak’s cutesy attempt at cluelessness in her suggestion that the police and antifa came to a head on Sunday in front of an Au Bon Pain because they want to “bring back the Triple Cinnamon Scone” would be less disgusting if America’s legacy of trivializing the rights of minorities didn’t exist.

Come hang out with me on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. If you like my writing, please consider contributing to my Patreon

Guy Secrets: “I Have an Excuse for That Bad Thing I Do!”

I have a friend named Justine who I assume hates me, because she keeps sending me these horrible Reddit posts. I guess she thinks that if she has to suffer, I do too….so like a scared teenager who watched the video in The Ring, I’m passing the horrors on to you! Blame Justine.

Over on r/AskReddit, someone asked, “what are some ‘guy secrets’ girls don’t know about?” They’re basically all along the lines of “here is my excuse for that shitty thing I do!” but here are some of my favorites!

1. I am lazy

Does this man think that women never get anything on the toilet seat? Like, I am sure that I am not the only woman to ever get a little bit of blood on a toilet seat — and then, because I’m not a foul monster, I clean up my mess immediately. No one fucking cares about your aim being on purpose or not — if we know you pissed on the toilet seat, it’s because you purposefully didn’t clean up after yourself.

Continue reading “Guy Secrets: “I Have an Excuse for That Bad Thing I Do!””

Misandry: Online Dating Edition

Someone shared this article in a leftbook group I am in. It’s a quick read, so go ahead and check it out; basically, the author put in the OKCupid “you should message me if” box that men should contact her if they both a) have numerous things listed under the favorite TV shows, movies, books, etc, section and b) at least one of these works was created by a woman. Disclaimer: I take a way more hardline stance on this issue than she does.

The backlash this article received (mostly by women!) was astonishing to me. People kept commenting that so what if all their favs were dudes?! Did it matter?

Yes. Yes, it does.

Look, it’s 2018. Women are still struggling to be treated as equals in the entertainment business, but we aren’t at ground zero. We make up a small portion of the entertainment world, but we have had influence. You can’t find a movie, book, or show written by a woman? You can’t find anything directed by a woman? Really? What about…Harry Potter, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, The Mindy Project, Cardi B, Fiona Apple, The New Jim Crow, 30 Rock, My Crazy Ex Girlfriend, Persepolis, Wonder Woman (a movie so fucking significant that the woman lead and the woman director were able to get a famous producer removed from the sequel), Thirteen, Handmaid’s Tale, Blame, The Hunger Games, The Girl on the Train, Divergent, What Happened, Unbelievable, Garbage, Amy Winehouse, Ariana Grande, White Trash, the third season of Rick and Morty — none of this interests you? NOT EVEN MEAN GIRLS??? Welp. Okay.

Continue reading “Misandry: Online Dating Edition”


WashPo profiled a scared white person, and I am just so grateful that I am able to better understand what it is like to be white and afraid of everything. They tracked a young couple, Heaven and Venson, who work at the Bell & Evans chicken plant in Fredericksburg, PA.

She knew she was about to go at least eight hours without speaking English, or probably anything at all, in a plant where nearly all of the workers were Latino and spoke Spanish, and she was one of the few who wasn’t and didn’t.

If only there was something that could be done about this….

[Heaven and Venson] held the embrace, swaying slightly, their world outside the plant’s walls — white, rural, conservative — feeling distant in this world within, where they were the outsiders, the ones who couldn’t communicate, the minority.

Wow. This is pretty fucking dramatic for a description of going into your job of quality checking chicken, holy shit.


Dear Men: Take Your Drink and Go Away. Sincerely, Service Workers Everywhere

Last week, Emelia Holden’s takedown of a customer who grabbed her ass while she was working in a restaurant went viral. Good. Maybe a couple of dudes will learn something from it — I know that I’m tired of men bothering me at work, and the reactions I’ve seen to Holden have been overwhelmingly positive.

The thing is, a lot of men cross a line with me when I’m at work. And if you’re a woman in the service industry, I’m sure it happens to you, too. When the Brock Turner case first hit the news, plenty of men were pissed (and rightly so!). Raping a passed out woman behind a dumpster is objectively wrong. It’s something that most men would never do. But pointing out that the Brock Turner case isn’t the standard of what’s right and wrong sure does upset some men.

Continue reading “Dear Men: Take Your Drink and Go Away. Sincerely, Service Workers Everywhere”

Why Can’t Major League Baseball Make Decent Fan Apparel for Women?

Over the years I have amassed a collection of about 30 Orioles t-shirts. Roughly three of them were designed for women. This begs the question: why the fuck is it so hard for apparel companies to create decent MLB clothing for women who like baseball?

Look, I understand that Majestic sucks for everyone, but the other brands who are licensed could at least try. For years I have been buying $5 and $10 t-shirts outside of Camden Yards on game days, because if I’m going to be in a low quality, ill fitting shirt, I’d rather spend $5 on it and not $30. But I would cheerfully shell out whatever on a decent women’s tank top.

Continue reading “Why Can’t Major League Baseball Make Decent Fan Apparel for Women?”

Thursday Book Recommendation: Hand to Mouth

I’ve decided that on Thursdays, I recommend books. I’m starting this week with Hand to Mouth: Living in Bootstrap America by Linda Tirado.

Standing desks really piss me off in a way I find hard to articulate. Other than working as a receptionist in high school, I have always had to stand for work. That includes standing at times that are actually completely  unnecessary, and oftentimes while wearing heels. Take this past week, for example. I worked 11.5 hour days, and was expected to stand for every hour, on concrete, with minimal breaks. It sucked. I had shin splints. My left knee was on fire by the last day. So why do people with good white collar jobs want to force themselves to suffer by standing for 8 hours? Did they look at minimum wage earning cashiers, forced to stand for gross amounts of time for literally no reason, and think, “gee, wish I could keep my salary but also role play as a poor person?” Like I’m actively trying to change things because it’s shitty to make someone stand when they could be sitting if they wanted, and here comes this standing desk craze.

Continue reading “Thursday Book Recommendation: Hand to Mouth”

%d bloggers like this: