Oh Frabjous Day, Calloo, Callay

An update on what's going on around our lives relating to foster/adoption stuff:

We have met our social worker (on our side of things) and she is very nice. We've had two interviews with her, as she gets to know us and about what we're capable of/comfortable with, and all about us. It's kind of like speed therapy with outcomes assessment. She's our go-between with the state, and she'll help make sure we end up with a placement that will be good for everyone. They want us to be successful, and they want us to be a good home for whatever kiddo is placed with us. So they are being very thorough in their assessments.

We're going to start rearranging the entire house this weekend. That's only slightly hyperbole - the plan is to make the office the guestroom, the guestroom the kid's room, and the small room that *was* going to be the kid room, into Scott's office. My desk will move down next to the fireplace, with some floating shelves above it. The bookshelves that are there now will move upstairs ... somehow. The books will ... go someplace. Scott's three-monitor desk will fit - somehow - into the much smaller room. Also, we need to completely reorganize the kitchen (OK, half reorganize), so I have room for bottles and bibs and such. We need to organize closets and storage spaces (and probably get rid of things), and *I* need to organize my desk stuff. We need to lock up all medicines (no really, that's a rule, with a lock and key and this includes vitamins) and we need to find a way to lock up all the movies/DVDs that aren't kid-friendly. Those of you who have seen "The Collection" understand that this is not a small task. So ... that's a little overwhelming. As in, please someone fix it for me. Our friend Julia (who has an organizing/clutter-clearing business, Clear Your Clutter) has said she will help me (for her reasonable fees) when I have time, and schedule with her. But I haven't even had time to work out a schedule, or get started. Eeep. Saturday (tomorrow!) we will begin moving stuff around. And then, when it's halfway done and everything is everywhere and I feel like we moved even though we didn't, I will start weeping piteously until someone gives me chocolate. Or a sedative.

After we have managed THAT (the rearranging, not the weeping piteously), our social worker will come (with a licenser? She is the licenser? I'm not sure) and check out our house, and tell us what else we need to change to meet the licensing requirements. Meanwhile, our background checks and fingerprints and the compatibility of our blood and brain matter with the machine - OK, that last part isn't true, but they are asking for enough paperwork that if they wanted a DNA sample I bet they could find one - all that stuff has to pass before we are licensed. Our hope is that we're licensed by the end of June. At any point after we have a foster parent license, we could have a kiddo, or a set of sibling kiddos, placed with us. Whom I will love and hug and pet and squeeze and call Humphronymous and/or Meredelightful. At least here and on facebook. Also I think I need to be careful about the squeezing part, and not being too scary like Lennie the Abominabable Snowman (or Of Mice and Men character). I shall *respectfully and with care* love and hug and pet and squeeze, and offer a caring home. That.

OK, it's true, offer a kind of nerdy and weird but caring home, but there's only so much you can ask of us, really.

This year's eXit SPACE show is coming up - June 2nd and 3rd. The website doesn't have the info yet, but as soon as it does, I will link to it.

I will be in two pieces this year, a jazz and a modern. I know, I'm usually in 3 or 4, but what with this and that and the other thing going on, it seemed the better part of valor to stick to two. But those two pieces, people! They are going to KICK ASS! AND POSSIBLY TAKE NAMES! But mostly the kick ass part. So be prepared to come to the show, and watch me jump up and down. A lot. With ass kicking. I will be expecting you.

Seriously, for serious, put these dates on your calendar. Come to the show. I will jazz hands-delight you. I will spin and twirl and jump and fall (on purpose) and slide (slidded, for those of us who were in rehearsal on Sunday) and roll around and crawl and leap and lift and throw and sexy walk and monkey and Fonda and ball change. All those things and more, will I do for you, dear audience. It will be completely awesome.

Also there will be more dance numbers to awe and shock you with their fantabulosity, for which you will thank me afterward for telling you to show up. Trust me on this.

In short: Dancing - I do it. And you should come see. June 2nd and 3rd in Seattle. Details to come.

Oh, the great philosopher Kenny Loggins. Although, I'm not mocking really. I enjoy Kenny Loggins. Born in the 70s, child of the 80s, that's me.

I haven't been blogging much lately. Mostly because life is busy, and I have to choose where I spend my time. And also because I want to talk about serious things in a serious way, but I always feel that everyone is already saying the intelligent things and I should just point out those people because they are smarter than I am.

I have to remember that I am smart, too. We're not supposed to say that out loud in this society. Not if we're women. Not if we're following the social rules. Which sucks, frankly. I am plenty smart. Of course, saying that makes me feel like an indignant child, stomping my food and saying "Hey! I am *too* smart!" But I think there's plenty to be angry about and plenty to feel foolish about, and I shouldn't let stupid society tell me how to feel about myself, or how to talk about it, either. I am smart. I am many things, and smart is one of them. So I can claim it and not be ashamed to claim it, and not be embarrassed that other people will think I'm uppity for claiming it. Well, I'm working on that. I embarrass and shame easily. That's another thing that kind of comes along with being a woman. Not all women give into it, but we do in my family. It's almost a rite of passage. I really, really want to change that, because I Do. Not. Want. my children to feel this way about themselves. It's copable, and certainly socially acceptable, but it's not particularly healthy.

So. Here's a breakdown of what I want to blog about, probably soonish.

1. Women are people. We have rights. If you, meaning the government of various states and our country, try to take them away, many, many of us will be extremely angry. We vote. We will vote against you, and for other officials who do not talk down to us and who treat us like human beings. Adult human beings who are capable of making decisions for themselves. If you patronize us and tell us that taking away our rights is for our own good, some of us will fantasize about lighting you on fire and listening to the delicious sounds of your screaming. Yes, sounds can be delicious. Just FYI. While most of us would never, ever act on that fantasy, that's what we're thinking about when we're smiling maliciously at you. You should know this, and be very, very cautious about your tone. Because while we can't in reality light you on fire, we want to. And we WILL eviscerate you in a verbal and patriotic way. Fair warning. Read "Jezebel". They do it all the time. I like them.

2. Women are people. Our society likes to tell us we're too this or not enough that, and break us down into body parts and make us feel like we can't ever be enough. And then discard us when we're past what society deems sexually interesting. But we are people from the time we are born until we die, just like men. We don't have to accept the ridiculous limits and sexist social rules, and it would be really nice if sexist asshats would shut their damn mouths already, because we've heard more than enough from them.

3. Those two items are related. A lot. And coming up with ways of writing about them without just violently flailing about in rage and disbelief at the immense inanity of society and government on the issue of HALF THE DAMN POPULATION OF THE DAMN COUNTRY, GODDAMMIT is extremely hard, and mostly I give up in a mixture of rage and despair. A ragespair, if you will. So we'll see what I can come up with. Expect a certain amount of capslock.

The other things I want to blog about are more personal. Writing, which I don't want to talk a lot about until I have a rough draft finished. I will finish this rough draft. It's still going. It's just taking me awhile. And that's OK. Right? It's OK. I edit better than I draft sometimes. So ... is it weird that I'm looking forward to editing? Oh well. I'll tell you when I can tell you, is what I'm saying.

The journey to being foster, and then adoptive, parents continues. We have things we still need to do before we're licensed. I don't expect that we'll have a child anytime before mid-summer. And once we do, I can't really speak about them in a public manner (i.e. on this blog or on facebook or anywhere) due to the child's privacy, and ours. It's legal, but it's also just kind. I can say we have a child, or children. I can talk about things that happen, I guess. But we can't name them in public, and it's unlikely we can share photos. Or if we do, we can't identify what the pictures are about. And we can't answer public questions about them. So ... that means I probably won't do a whole lot of what people like to call "mommy blogging." Or if I do, it will be very, very cautious. And I will have to come up with obviously fake names. Like Humphronymous and Meredelightful.

Oooh. I ... I kind of like those names. So um, don't be surprised if our children are so publicly named, in places like this. And maybe the park. Perhaps it's for the best that any real life names I would ever pick out (should we ever adopt a baby without a name) would be vetted by a panel of others. Any others. Clowns, even. Did I ever tell you that I once named a main character Cacynthia? I was 15, but still. I'm better now. Really. But come on. Isn't Meredelightful just ... delightful? Don't you just want to sing it? And chirping birds would bring her hair ribbons, wouldn't they? Ahem.

Anyhoodle. Talking about this stuff is going to be hard, no matter what happens with it all. So it might not get a whole lot of attention on my blog or places like this. Or it will be a whole lot of "No sleep for days. Can someone please come over so I can take a shower? Wait, have you had a background check, and been fingerprinted? Never mind. Can someone take a shower for me? Seriously, I'll stand in the back yard and you can hose me down." See, I didn't even mention Humphronymous. Of course, any parent would say I didn't have to.

So that's my blog, and I'm sticking to it. On an infrequent, random basis. In case anyone was wondering. Cheers!

Last night I watched the new show "GBC," which has several actors I really love in it. In particular, I love Kristen Chenoweth. I think she's a fantastic actor and a phenomenal singer. I also adore Annie Potts, and I've enjoyed Jennifer Aspen (although I admit I had to look up her name) on a lot of different shows. I had conflicted hopes for the show, as it looked like it was supposed to be a sort of "Desperate Housewives," which I've never liked, but slightly funnier. But on the strength of the actors, and hopes that the writing was good, I watched the pilot episode.

I was disappointed, people. The main premise of the show seems to be "Women are mean to each other - isn't that hilarious!" And it's as tawdry and farcical as it can be without actually devolving into Benny Hill. OK, maybe not quite that bad - but the tawdry is there, and it's ... icky. Just icky, without any redeeming funny. It's not the actor's fault - they all acted superbly the parts they had. I believed them, especially the women. (The men were really after-thoughts to the action, or vague plot points. Which, OK, fair play and all, that happens to women a lot in fiction. But it's as annoying when it's the men as it is when it's the women.) (Also, what is up with all the men looking so alike? They don't in their actor photos, but in the show, I swear, it's like they all had the same jawline and teeth. Did they order them special?) The writing wasn't stupid - the dialogue was relatively snappy, and the jokes were intelligent enough. They just weren't funny. Or not funny enough.

The show starts with the main character's husband fleeing the country after stealing money in some Ponzi scheme, and he and his mistress dying in a car crash because she offers to give him a BJ so he won't be so stressed. While he's driving. This was done far better and far funnier in the movie "Parenthood" from 1989. Imitation is not always as flattering as you'd think. Anyway, this leaves our main character, Amanda, a widow with serious financial and social problems, and she has to move herself and her children out of California back to Texas, where she grew up. Where she was apparently the mean girl, the "Queen Bitch" in high school, as she put it at the end of the show. And all the women she done wrong when she was a teenager are successful and hate her and want to see her fail. Amanda claims she's changed, that she's not that girl anymore. But by the end of the show, she's pushed back into a corner. While her reaction does get some of her own back, it also shows just how much of that queen she still is. There were other ways to deal with that scenario. I can think of 10. Some of them funnier. But those wouldn't keep the main premise going, that of "Women are so MEAN. LOL!"

I'm really tired of that stereotype, and it means I won't be watching that show. It's sad, because Annie Potts really is funny, and I love her. I even love her crazy, overbearing, right-wing, pushy stereotype, against my will, because she does it so well, and with so much verve and chewing of scenery. And Ms. Chenowith was happy to chew the scenery along with her, and spit out the pieces in tiny, blonde, angry stereotype chunks. She was great, for the role she had. But it's not enough. I want friends. I want women who like each other and have each other's backs, and bicker and play and care about one another, and screw up and fix things and live lives of hilarity without constant worry that the other women around them who pretend to be nice are going to stab them with cruel words. I want sromance. This is not that show. So disappointed.

This past weekend a friend of mine died unexpectedly. We weren't so close that I feel like I can link to things or discuss his death a lot online, but I do want to say that I am very sad that he's gone, I'll miss him. And I feel just awful for his family, and close friends. He was a wonderful person, and the loss is felt keenly. I don't want to seem to be mocking anyone's grief with my irreverence, so I'm putting this in its own place. Mark, you were kind to me, and funny and interesting and a good man. We'll miss you. Peace and good journey, whatever that journey is.

It's Leap Day! Leap Day Time! Time for Leaping! That's what we do, right? We leap on Leap Day? I'm pretty sure that's how that works. Except for me, because I am too sick to leap. I might go to class tonight and try hopping, though. If so, it will be the first hopping in many a day. Oh, Death Blarg, how I despise thee.

(Note: for those not playing along on facebook, I have the Death Blarg. This followed closely on the heels of the officially recognized outbreak of Stomach Death Gaaaah from Radcon. The Death Blarg is merely the normal con crud, but once removed, as it traveled through Scott first to get to me. So I've been sick for almost 2 weeks, and I feel I have a human and inalienable right to complain about this. OFFICIAL COMPLAINT: Dear Death Blarg Two: The Blargination: Revenge of the Blarginators - write a damn ending already. This plot has played out.)

Anyhow, in celebration of Leap Day, I have opened myself a Twitter account. It is shiny and new, and I'm not entirely sure how one operates it. I've followed a couple of people, and I sent Scott a Tweet. But I don't know how to add descriptions or an icon picture or anything at all like that. My work computer won't let me sign on to look at it, it goes all wonky and shows a bunch of code. (Which is weird, because I can see individual people's Twitter pages but I can't do anything else. Which ... is probably just as well. Do I need to do this at work? Not really. It's just convenient, is all.)

If you would like to follow me, my Twitter is @frabjouslinz, because it seemed best to be consistent. Also, because it let me. So there's that. Right now there's nothing on it, but I think I've been followed by some sort of robot following twitter person. Seeing as how I've never heard of them, they turned up almost immediately, and the picture is of two blond girls possibly snogging, I feel relatively certain that this is not a real person.

But there - a Leap Day thing I have done. I leapt onto Twitter. I think I'll celebrate with some chocolate. And blowing my nose some more. If I'm really lucky, perhaps I'll find a quiet place to take a nap. Later, I'll learn how to actually use Twitter. I plan on being weird there. (Those of you muttering sarcastically "Oh, *that'll* be a big change" may retire to the peanut gallery.)

I had a Ranty McRantypants Rant that I wanted to write up, generally about misogyny and the evils therein, and how much I despise the politicians who are trying to legislate what I do with my personal time and lady parts, but I haven't the energy right now. I might get back to that later. I mean, there are about six rants in there - misogyny in the publishing world, misogyny in politics, misogyny in religion, misogyny in fashion, misogyny in the way we socialize our children ... I have two or three others, but I'm getting exhausted just thinking about all the ways in which misogyny sucks. So I'll get back to it at another time, when I'm all up in arms about it again. Right now my message is: Quit being misogynistic, world. Just. Stop.

I realize that is inspecific and unlikely to in reality stop anyone. But considering the widespreadedness of anti-women stuff in general, I'd just like to put that out there as a For-Now message. As a woman, I think it is important that I get to use my voice, even when I'm not as specific as I'd like to be. This is my message, and it is mine: Misogyny is Bad.

OK, with that out of the way, I believe I will feel free to post up some other things later. With luck, they will be happy things that point out the happiness in life.

We met with the foster program person last night, officially applying to the program, and turned in some paperwork for a criminal background check to start the process. It was an informational meeting, so she just asked some general questions to get a feel for what we wanted, and about us. She's going to assign us to a social worker who will be our main case worker. We have to get ready for the home visits and evaluations, and make sure we're signed up for all of the classes we need to take. There's a child/infant CPR and bloodborne pathogens class, which is free for prospective foster parents, so I just need to sign us up. We won't have a child in the house before June at the very earliest, because it'll take that long for all of the home visits and background checks and everything to get done. We'll be taking the PRIDE class (it's a series of 5-8 hour sessions, basically training us to be foster parents. I think.) in March. A Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Thursday, Friday thing. I'm weirdly nervous about every single step in this process so far. I'm not sure why. I mean, beyond the fact that I apparently feel the need to be nervous about everything all the time. Which is getting old, limbic system. Seriously, can I outgrow that? Thanks.

The home inspection is going to be the thing that takes us the most time and money, I think. I mean, there are 4 visits, and we have time to get things taken care of after the first one. But there are a lot of minor, and one or two major, things we'll need to do and buy. And we have to get the room prepared, which might be a large project. Scott wants to rearrange all the rooms, possibly, and there might have to be some room rearranging in the downstairs to compensate. We're gonna need a bigger boat. And by boat I mean bookcases. Several of them. And maybe a bookaholic intervention plan. But we've been talking about rearranging and buying newer couches and, of course, baby room furniture, and all that stuff. We just need to make a plan for these things, and then follow that plan, as opposed to nebulous "we should maybe" talks we've been doing. So that's not really a surprise. Just more to do.

The thing I didn't count on, is that if my parents want to help out with childcare, they will also have to take some classes and get certified and have a background check. Eeesh. I mean, not if they're just babysitting for an hour or so, but if they're providing care for more than that, say, if we can't get into daycare right away because infants are harder to place, and they wanted to help us out for a week or so when we have to go back to work, then yes, DSHS will need to make sure they aren't secret criminals. (My parents, secret jewel thieves extraordinaire. Who knew?)  Because we aren't adopting right away, and we'll be foster parents, this sort of thing is required. It is rather a bunch of hoops to jump through. And it's nerve wracking, because we're jumping through all these hoops, and we might bring home a baby that will be placed back with his or her parents after a few weeks or months, or even a year and more, and then we'll have to grieve and heal and do it all over again. But these kids need people to love them and want them, too. I think I might be that person. Possibly with lots of weeping.

The program is the best way I've heard to make sure these kids get into homes that want them for always, and not bounce them around from place to place, which can be more traumatic. Not that I'm disparaging traditional foster parents per se. But from everything I've read, a child who is sent into foster care, from place to place without finding a home that wants to keep them, has so many more problems and hurdles in life. And I want so much to be a mom, and Scott wants to be a dad (again), and we can be parents to a child and want that child for ours, whether or not we can be certain that we'll get to adopt him or her. The child will never feel like they don't have a place to go. It's scary for us. I may be in for some serious grief. But then again, I'll also be in for some furious joy. So I can't say I'll be getting a bad bargain, all told.

But this is how we're going to start a family, and it's a little different than just (just! Hah!) having a baby. The State has to get all up in our grill, to make sure the kids are going to a responsible home. Me, responsible. Huh. It's weird how I don't feel grown up enough at 39. Perhaps it's true, you don't really grow up until you have kids of your own. Maybe I'll finally get organized now. That would be a minor miracle. Either way, we'll be parents, and we'll have a major miracle of our own to try and keep from biting other people's miracles at the playground. I swear, she's never done that before. Here's a list of all our phone numbers and some character references, and our doctor in case you notice anything odd. No, it isn't weird at all that I have this handy. I'm just super-organized like that. Really.

Random things make a random post. Ah, the art of blogging - I flail at it. 

Next week Scott and I meet with the foster/adoption social worker, and turn in some paperwork. So it begins. I don't really know what to expect, other than the Spanish Inquisition. I think they might have more than the comfy chair in mind, though, when they question us. Well, they will have to ascertain that we have a comfy chair, at some point. And child locks, and that we have fire ladders in every upstairs room and a detailed fire plan, and that we don't plan to drown any children in the rain-filled useless non-fountain in our back yard. I think we might have a chat with the landlord/prop management company about that stupid thing. 

I'm nervous. Just a little. But I might clean the heck out of the house this weekend. Even though it's nowhere near time for a home visit, and no one will know but us (and you reading this), but it might make me feel better. Neurotic? Nah.

This week marks two months since I started using the elliptical machine at work, 2-3 times per week. This is in addition to my dance class schedule, mostly on days when I do not have dance. I'm surprising myself by almost liking it. I haven't lost any more weight per se, but I have lost another 1/2 inch off of thighs and arms. So ... I guess that's good. If in the future we have room, lots of extra money, and decide to spend money on exercise equipment, I would not object to a similar object. I would probably even use it. This is saying a lot - normally I hate these things. And I'd be happier if the work machine *didn't* have that tv on it - I don't use it, and it's in the way of the not-great-but-something view. Which means I'm either looking off to the side a bit, or looking at a dark reflection of my sweaty, moon-shaped face mouthing the words to whatever motivational angry or excessively happy music I've got on. (Right now I'm liking "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheetus. And Gotye, of course. And Earth, Wind, and Fire, because duh.) This exercise thing - not too hard to add in. I've always been happier the more active I am.

I do need to fix my food intake habits, however. I eat better than I did when I was a teenager ... but only by a few degrees. The thing is, I never needed to worry about my weight until the last few years. (Stress on *needed*). My mid-life weight gain is something I am ill-equipped, based on prior experience, to cope with. Not something that people who have different body image issues from me are particularly sympathetic about, necessarily. But that's just it - I've always had body image issues, just not the same ones as people fighting their weight. Even when I was (comparatively) young and hot, I always thought I was hideous. Which is an almost universal experience among women (and many men, of course) - The Bloggess had it right in her column about body acceptance - I am at the "I am hideous and wish I looked like I did when I was a teenager" stage. Which is ridiculous, of course. I would never go back to being a teenager. But man, I wish I still had those abs. And that metabolism. But not anything else that goes along with it. I want to go back to the "When do I get my wings" stage. Or skip to the "Fuck you, I'm awesome" stage. So far I haven't been able to pick. So instead of obsessing over other flaws, I now get to obsess about weight, like most other women in America. I cannot express the depth of my not-yay. 

So I need to eat better, whether or not it helps me to lose weight I may or may not need to lose. I've been working on it slowly, but this coming week? I'm adding in cottage cheese. I haven't eaten it since I was a child - because I hated it then, so I've refused to eat it. But there's the case of the yogurt - I used to hate that, too. Tastes too yogurty. I now eat yogurt all the time - granted, only one flavor of only one brand, but it's now my breakfast and go-to snack. So ... that's some progress, right? Maybe I can do that with cottage cheese. Basically I need more protein and less sugar. And more veggies, but that's more a function of buying them and eating them before they spoil. Which means we'll have to cook more. Scott is perfectly willing to cook, but I think I need to contribute here. I am not a terribly good cook. Mostly because I get bored and give up. I'm perfectly happy to eat sensible, tasty, nutritious meals. As long as I don't have to do a whole lot about it. So. Lazy. I like my meals to magically appear like in Harry Potter. But without enslaving any poor gray creatures who refuse socks. That's just cruel.

The other random thing is the writing. It's still chugging along. I'm close to 35,000 words. I'm in the actual middle. I'm feeling like I lost a few threads of plot, and I don't have the names of enough things, and I may have over-invested in one of the main characters who isn't technically the main protagonist, because she's awesome, but she sort of met most of her goal and now I'm stuck again. Sigh. But I have some idea what I might do about it. Maybe. A friend is looking over what I have so far (minus the meeblings from this week) and I'm hoping he'll have some suggestions. I went back and read the first 60 or so pages (I'm past page 150! When I get to page 300, I'm having a party.) and there's some really good stuff in there. Mixed in with dropped characters and unrealized plot ideas and a few weird rambly bits, and some really awful dialogue, of course. But I'm not fixing it yet. I just wanted to remember what I did so far. 

I think it will work, though. I need a pathway through the middle, hack through giant thickets of random plot distractions, get my protagonist to stick to her goals, not to say her guns, and get things moving again. And get to the end. After I do that, I can fiddle around and fix things and maybe some of these plot distractions will be good thickener. Although I'm betting mostly it needs to be cut. No despair in Lindseyville for this story, though. I have faith that I can get to the end. I'm still not giving myself a deadline, because so far that has not worked for me. But I will finish this novel, and I will get it to first readers, after a general fix-the-names, spell-check, add in a couple obvious scenes pass. Because I can.

So that's my random post about stuff on my bliggety-blog. Happy Friday the 13th.

First post of the new year, and I'm afraid it's going to get ranty. So fasten your seatbelts, boys and girls, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Tonight Scott and I watched (recorded earlier) 'The Nerdist: Year End Review', or whatever the title was. The host is Chris Hardwick, and his guests were Wil Wheaton and Nathan Fillion, and someone else whom I don't remember. And there were two other guys, who appeared to be regulars. I had never seen this show, or listened to the podcasts before, but it looked like fun, and I wanted to watch it like the geeky girl I am. 

I don't know if other geek girls have commented on this yet or not. There may be some giant discussion going on, but there was a moment in this show that just hit all my buttons for feminist rage, and also ruined the show for me. I've been stewing about it, and I want to share my thoughts. 

One of the guys who appeared to be a regular had a segment about 2011 in music. And his shtick was that it was the 'Year of the Woman,' and all the top songs/albums had been by women. Lady Gaga, Rihanna, and Adele - maybe a couple others but I don't remember. His comment on all this? His big joke? Was that this was 'also the first year that I wouldn't want to sleep with any of the top women.' (I paraphrase, as I don't have the transcript.) His next line, which I admit I mostly missed due to aforementioned feminist rage, was some crack about Adele not being attractive. I can only assume due to her not being a size 2. And everyone at the table chuckled, and then they moved on. And here I was, a geek girl watching, and suddenly this party has thrown me out because I have ovaries. This party is for boys only. Girls are only good for one thing, and that thing isn't for smarts or business acumen or talent or ability or anything, except how attractive you are, and whether some (by the way not a size 2 himself) geeky guy would want to sleep with you. 

These were pretty much the only women mentioned in the entire show. Felicia Day was lauded for being smart and innovative later on, but there were no women guests, and all other mentions of women were in passing. And if it weren't for that jerk and his stupid non-segment, I probably wouldn't have thought anything of it. But after that, I felt bitter and kicked and angry. Because really? This is how we treat women artists in the nerdy community? Still? WHAT YEAR IS THIS?

I should probably just mutter "asshole" and move on. But this was a party I was looking forward to. Wil Wheaton and Nathan Fillion on the same show? With other nerds? Talking about nerdy things? And the show was pretty funny and otherwise fun to watch, is the real shame. The host is charming and keeps things rolling, and most of the jokes were light and a laugh riot. But that one crack made it very clear to me that I was not welcome at this party. That my presence was at best tolerated and that I didn't get to play in their clubhouse because I might get cooties on it. Also I'm probably too fat, and not pretty enough. Because if Adele isn't pretty enough, then no one is. That woman is freaking gorgeous, and that jerk is too stupid to live. Every time he opened his mouth for the rest of the show, I wanted to punch him in the face. Because now I feel marginalized by a group of people that I would like to be welcomed by. 

To be fair, I don't know what the other people at the table truly thought of that joke. I don't know if this stuff is vetted beforehand, or if Wil or Nathan had any idea it was coming, or if they just let it go because hey, this wasn't their show and they're just guests on it. And I'd have to watch it again to see if they showed their faces at that moment, because I think the camera was just focused on that one guy. But it still felt like they'd all kicked me to the curb.

It just makes me so angry and sad that here it is, we're all supposedly 'living in the future', and my feminist rage button was pushed by the people who claim to be the most progressive. My people. Nerds. How progressive can they be when they appear to live by gender rules from 1959? Although the rest of the show seemed funny and smart, I don't think I want to watch it anymore. I like nerds who recognize that women have contributions to make, and are important and partners in this world. Not those who just rate us on whether or not they'd #*&% us. Those guys? Are a worthless wast of time.