An personal history of television and feminism.
I fed her a french fry and downed the last of my PBR at 12:52. I know this because that’s the time stamp on the text that I sent to my bestie, to tell him that I was going home with this girl. This girl, she was wearing a Modest Mouse t-shirt, and she’s only a little older than me. But just then, under the bar light, she looked really matronly and says, “You should always tell a friend where you’re going when you go home with a stranger. You know, just in case something happens.” The gesture is endearing and creepy all at once. In that moment that I go from finding her attractive to really liking her. And I imagine that at this time the news of the shooting was hitting twitter and the major networks. My bestie pings me back. He bets $20 she’s got one of those feminine fist bump power tattoos. I bet him $30 it’s in the small of her back.
So, here’s the thing tumblr. You have a really negative affect on my content production Because the thing is, you’re not about content production. And that’s ok. And this doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I’m just compartmentalizing.
“You looked kind of like that heroin dealer from that one TV show. And I was trying to cross the street. You leaned out of your car window and started yelling at me about how I was hot, ‘for a fat chick’. Because everyone likes a compliment with a caveat. You looked so surprised when I threw my coffee thermos at your car. I think it cracked the windshield. And you know what? I don’t feel bad about it at all.”