minou @minou - Tumblr Blog

What's up, jerks? I missed you guys.

Well in all fairness, I am a neurotic entitled overprivileged slightly chubby pain in the ass, but still. This might be where I hit bottom, so to speak.

No really. By all means.

I'm in LA and I just made out with a guy who compared me to Lena Dunham. By which I mean, that's what he liked about me. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE I WAS BORN TO LIVE.

#BRB.#FFS.#I am a voice of a generation apparently.

GOD I hate how transparent the mens can be. This guy who I have had a crush on for years (and I KNOW it was mutual) made plans to come by tonight. The last time I saw him, I was a size 2, deep in my ED, naked in a sauna with bones sticking out everywhere. As soon as he saw my size 8+ tonight, the excuses started. Fuck that. Fuck that in the ear.

Ladypimps: A Very Special Episode

I spent the best New Year's Eve of my life talking about testicles with Meg's dad, getting puke drunk on vodka and gatorade, and watching Luke fall face first off a tricycle, which.

#2009.#Never forget.#All the gonads of the world.

The truth is I don't know how to observe New Year's Eve without bottomless self-loathing and "ohfuckwhatdididowithmylifethisyear" affect, and, since I finished my dissertation and largely recovered from a decade-long depression this year, it's not an option. And I just can't quite get it up for bottomless "omigodholyshiti'mnotmarriedyet" despair, so.

I decided not to write the post about 2012 and how simultaneously shitty and great it was. 2012 was like a long dissolve from shitty into great, as yet incomplete. But I'm not really feeling retrospective right now (or introspective or any other kind of spective). What I really want to say is, in 2013, I'm not going to be anyone's midlife crisis. Including my own.

Hi, tumblr. Hello. It's been a while. And I realize that a person's conspicuous absence from tumblr generally signifies that she or he has undergone some profound life changing event such as getting knocked up, having a baby, falling in love -- you know, happy things that, as such, would ostensibly (and incorrectly) suggest that the person in question doesn't *need* tumblr anymore, which.

But no, nothing has really changed in my life. Rather than subject you all to another episode of "my weight gain/loss/gain ad infinitum" part gazillion, or "why prozac is totally great and also I am boring now," or subject myself to having to read the word "privilege" one more fucking time, I mean seriously, I just took a break. I emphatically did NOT "get sober."

What did I do on my tumblr vacation? I'm glad you asked.

Between my mother and I, we figured out a new litterbox situation for Frenchy so he's not peeing all over the place anymore, so these days I spend a lot less time cleaning up pee. I also bought Frenchy a Scratch Lounge (thank me later). I taught myself to sew and made 30 handkerchiefs. I said affirmations and set goals and tried not to be such an asshole. I celebrated Christmas with my parents and received four new bed pillows, a crock-pot, and a juicer (!!!). I did not shovel very well during the last storm, which I am now regretting. I learned that one of my students, terminally ill, got a marginally more positive prognosis. I graded way too many papers. I finally gave the big final "fuck you" to a dude who will not be darkening my doorway again, unless it is to burn my house down, in which case Meg has all my passwords. I tried to become a vegan and instead ended up cooking a fuckload of swine. I resisted the temptation to cut my own bangs. I ran on the treadmill. I successfully avoided all but one cocktail party. I tried and failed to stop liking macaroni and cheese so much. Cat videos! Documentaries! Students! Detroit! Frenchy! My mother! Post-its! Dating (still terrible)! Job market! Celery!

So, you know, nothing important.

I am having one of those very rare ladypimp days when I just feel sorry for all the dudes who aren't in love with me. Or at least trying to sleep with me.

#NOT A ONE!#This is a penis desert.

Seriously so far the only tangible benefit of getting this PhD has been pulling rank on this fucking student today.

Oh, my dear students. When you, yourself, have read everything by Foucault, Bersani, Freud, Sedgwick, Warner, et fucking al about the history of sexuality, and been tested on it twice, orally and in writing, and then have spent 5+ years researching and writing a 400 page book, at least 150 pages of which are devoted totally to this material, then, THEN you may "beg to differ" with me about the history of sexuality. UNTIL THEN HOW ABOUT GO FUCK YOURSELF?

My dad got my niece (4) and nephew (2) these for Christmas. First of all, I think my dad is the coolest grandpa ever? And also, what a genius present! What kid wouldn't love a headlamp that's just their size? Sure, they're $20 each, but considering they're made by LL Bean, also pretty much indestructible. And would probably buy you many hours of "kids entertaining themselves under the bed."

I mean sure, sometimes heartbreak is all, like, Sorrows of Young Werther. And sometimes being a feminist woman is all badass Bikini Kill and or art/torch-y like Antony? But sometimes these things are also boring and unoriginal and more irritating than painful, and that is where Taylor Swift comes in.

And no, I'm not going to tell your mom you're into S&M.

#She already knows I am!

So it turns out that posting "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" on Facebook earns you neither scorn nor shame but rather, inbox messages from a number of your exes "just wondering if everything's ok" (i.e. "You mad/gonna tell my wife I drunk texted you that I still love you/gonna tell my girlfriend I take viagra/send someone a damaging anonymous letter/lol?").

OH MY GOD. I *KNOW* HIM!!!

Now the cheesecake has to rest on the counter for 15 minutes before going in the fridge. I am confident that if I ask Frenchy to keep an eye on it, I can go take a shower. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

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