Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

The neighborhood I live in used to be really shitty. I know this because the front door of my apartment has 3 locks and the very tall chain link fence between our building and the one next to it has both regular barbed wire AND big (sagging, falling down) loops of razor wire along it. Also there’s a large amount of old people here, most of them Ethnic, who were probably warehoused out here when property values were much lower.

It’s a way better neighborhood now, full of awesome old buildings with much limestone and terra cotta, hipsters in low rise jeans and goofy looking glasses walking labrapuggles, a few blocks from the lake, with lots of Russian and Polish food in the nearby stores. (Also Korean and Chinese and Indian food, mmm)

Today is the 3rd of July. Unlike Julys past, there weren’t ANY fireworks overnight and none the past week. There have been very few today.

I am loving the shit out of this.

Explosions make me very nervous, and they make Nesko remember fleeing Montenegro in a taxi while it was being bombed. Good times.

I can only assume that the high concentration of old folks is what’s keeping the fireworks at bay.

We are going to Nesko’s family’s place tomorrow to cook out. I’m making chocolate chip pecan cookies (I think I will chop up the caillebaut chocolate I have) and hamburgers and chicken marinated in yogurt. I WILL LET YOU KNOW HOW IT TURNS OUT.

In completely different news entirely, I am doing a Sims 2 story over at http://www.morgendorfen.com. It updates Mondays and Wednesdays.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I have an incredibly high level of dentist-related anxiety, much of it due to a dentist who apparently didn’t know how to inject Novocaine and who also didn’t believe me when I told him I was in pain, and some of it due to a dentist who I don’t even remember except with terror. Something about being alone in an office (like, desk and chairs office) at the age of 3 or 4 with no parent, while he threatened to handcuff me to something (a chair?) if I didn’t behave while he was cleaning my teeth. Stay classy, medical professionals. Stay classy. Also, I had an orthodontist who found my mouth too small for his fat fingers so he broke my jaw while trying to cram his hands in there, and who refused to trim my wires because I could just “bend them back with a spoon when I got home,” even though I was physically there in his physical office and they were gouging great big bloody furrows in my cheeks.

Good times.

What I mean is, my reactions to the dentist have a root in actual physical and emotional pain. While they continue to be irrational and overblown, they didn’t come walloping up out of nowhere. I have a long and established history of dentists causing me pain and either not believing me or else insulting and belittling me when I talked about that pain. One dentist, for instance, physically restrained me (shoved me back against the chair and held me down) while he worked on me. I wasn’t a little kid (not that it would have been appropriate for a little kid, mind), I was in high school. He tried to do the same thing to my brother, who is larger and stronger than I am and who managed to get away from him.

I also haven’t had dental insurance in a long time. While I did have a dental care plan worked out a few years ago, a sudden financial emergency that ate up all our savings, the money I had set aside for my dental care, AND all my credit, put an end to that. I also took a medication that caused dry mouth that lasted for years after I stopped taking the medication. So, you know, I have some pretty bad cavities. Two of these cavities are so big that they need root canals.

I did see a dentist about them, but I was pregnant at the time. I thought it would be a simple matter of filling one tooth. Some very quick X-Rays later I was told brusquely that I needed two root canals, my teeth were in bad shape, and the office was going to give me a referral to another place but I had to figure out who I could see (my insurance situation sucked ass and hardly covered anyone in the area). I was reluctant to get major work done while pregnant so just sucked it up and waited and withstood tremendous, searing pain that fortunately didn’t last for very long. It came and went, luckily. At least for awhile.

And then it came and didn’t go. It hurt so badly I wanted to claw my face off and pull certain teeth out with my bare fingers. Or die. You know. Whichever. So I arranged to see a dentist.

He took a bunch of X-Rays, told me my teeth were shit, mocked me for having so many cavities, and had a dental tech “polish” my teeth. Then they took the bib off and told me it was time to set up an appointment. For five weeks later.

Five.

Weeks.

Granted, the dentist was going out of town in two weeks, but five weeks later? There was no way to squeeze me and my SEARING FUCKING PAIN in earlier? Apparently not.

And then the pain settled in and wouldn’t leave. It hurt so bad I couldn’t sleep. I’d just sit on the couch and fold laundry and watch PBS specials on Peru and whimper and sob, tears running down my face, trying to keep quiet so I wouldn’t wake Nesko up because it was like 2:00 am. I was downing Tylenol III, extra strength Tylenol, and 4 Excedrin at the same time, and still longing for death because the pain was barely being touched. And then my stomach started hurting from all the Excedrin, which is one of the few non-prescription pain medications that works for me.

I turned to the Vicodin left over from my C-Section. I only had 8 left and didn’t want to use them up. What if the pain got even worse? I tried to space them out, take them with non prescription pain killers, not eat or drink anything that would make the pain worse, not let my teeth touch each other, that sort of thing.

I was able to get an appointment yesterday and went in.

Apparently it’s impossible to do more than one root canal at a time, so I had to chose which tooth to get worked on, which was an ass choice to make because they both hurt like hell. No matter which one I chose I’d still have terrific pain. I chose the right one, though, because since making the initial appointment that tooth had begun falling apart, and at least the left one still seemed stable.

The dentist gloved up and got a cotton swab with numbing gel on it. As he brought it towards my mouth, something jabbed me in the lip and I flinched away. He gave me A Look and said in a voice dripping with contempt “It’s just a Q-Tip.” I told him that yeah, I knew what it was, and that something had jabbed me in the lip or given me an electric shock or something. He checked out the swab and yeah, the wooden shaft of it had a splinter that had jabbed me in the fucking lip. Maybe I’m just a demanding, needy, asshole but I really don’t think it’s professional or decent to treat someone who is obviously on edge and nervous with contempt. “It’s just a Q-Tip.” Fuck you.

He swabbed my gum (no dentist has done this before; one used to give me an injection before the Novocaine that hurt like HELL and I’ve mostly just gotten Novacaine shots. They aren’t THAT bad) and then injected Novocaine into the outside of the gum, near the lip. Then he started drilling. And it hurt.

I’m pretty used to drilling hurting. I mentioned that I had a dentist who didn’t know how to administer Novocaine, right? Because I have so many idiosyncratic reactions to pain killers, I just assumed that Novocaine didn’t work on me. I even have had cavities drilled out with no Novocaine whatsoever. When I had a dentist who administered Novocaine correctly for the first time, I was surprised and thrilled. People had been telling me for years that I was just a fucking coward with a low pain tolerance who couldn’t tell the difference between pressure and pain.

In point of fact, I know what pain feels like.

I mentioned that the drilling was hurting and that it felt really cold. Very cold. Like when you stick an ice cube against a metal filling and the metal conducts the cold up the nerve and you feel like you’re being stabbed in the brain with an ice pick cold. Ok, I didn’t explain it THAT much. I was too busy trying not to scream, punch him, and flee the room. He gave me another Look and told me that he could give me “40 injections of Novocaine” and I’d still feel stuff. Then he started drilling again and it hurt even more. I gasped and made this terrible high pitched whimper and climbed 3 or 4 inches up the chair, white knuckling the arm rests. He asked where the pain was and I said it felt like it was right up the middle of my tooth and up into my eye socket. He let out this huge sigh like I was incredibly inconveniencing him and give me another shot, this time in the roof of my mouth.

He started drilling again, and I knew he was fiddling around with my teeth and I felt pressure and the occasional bits of pain that didn’t last long. But it wasn’t that OH MY GOD I WANT THIS OVER JUST PULL THE FUCKING TOOTH pain.

He didn’t think my pain was real.

Which, honestly, is pretty par for the course when I see any dentist or doctor.

He drilled and drilled and did stuff and I tried very hard not to pay attention so I wouldn’t freak out, and then it felt like he was drilling other teeth, including a back molar– possibly the wisdom tooth that I need to have pulled. I didn’t want him to touch any other cavities; I’m pretty sure he’s not covered by my current (State issued/funded) insurance and I wanted to go to a specific place that IS covered, so this little adventure might well end up costing me a hell of a lot more than I thought. He didn’t ask me what type of fillings I wanted, he didn’t tell me what filling is in the premolar he worked on (pretty sure it’s temporary, but he didn’t say anything), didn’t tell me if I needed a crown or anything, didn’t mention root canaling the other tooth, just told me to make another appointment. I was too shaken up to really ask any questions, although I did ask about pain relief.

He advised me to take Tylenol, which can cause migraines in me and usually doesn’t work at all on pain (not that he’d know that, that wasn’t part of any intake evaluation and isn’t really a common thing) or midol.

Midol.

Because apparently I can expect cramping and bloating in my mouth in the near future.

I was too rattled to really push the issue, but brought up the OH MY GOD SEARING PAIN and he told me that it was because I was grinding/clenching my teeth.

Which I haven’t been. I have never done that except under very specific stressful situations which this isn’t one of.

He told me that no, I have been! Most likely while asleep.

I said no, I don’t grind or clench my teeth, and most of the pain has been while I’m awake.

He argued that no, I must just not be noticing it, but I’m totes grinding/clenching my teeth and if I don’t believe HIM then I can ask his RECEPTIONIST who either grinds/clenches his teeth or else is psychic and knows my mouth better than I do.

Considering that touching tooth to tooth is painful, and that I have TMJ and so really really notice when I clench or grind my teeth, I really don’t think that’s what’s going on. But hey! He’s a DENTIST! He obviously knows me better than I know myself!

My entire body hurts today. All my muscles were tensed up as I braced for pain after pain yesterday. I had to keep opening my mouth, knowing that he was going to shove more instruments in there that were going to hurt me. I had to keep my mouth open while foul tastes and odors and pain wafted around and my jaw hurt more and more from staying open. My tooth that was worked on hurts like fuck because, duh, it was worked on (this is normal and will fade soon) and my other tooth hurts like fuck because it still needs work. And pain is radiating out of that tooth even when I’m sitting with my teeth far apart; my jaw doesn’t quite align right and my molars are crooked enough that it’s not really comfortable for me to have my mouth shut “normally” most of the time. Either my top front teeth rest directly on top of (but slightly to the side) of my front lower teeth, or else my lower lip is caught between the two of them. (My teeth/jaw aren’t as fucked up as this sounds, really.) Trust me, I am not grinding or clenching my teeth, and I still have searing pain that makes my eye socket hurt.

I’m not sure if this tooth will withstand the week and a half wait till the next appointment, and I’m literally sick at the idea of how much this will all cost. Literally. My stomach’s in turmoil. When people talk about the high cost of being poor, this is part of that. If I’d had dental insurance OR the money to properly deal with this crap when it was JUST small cavities– hell, if I’d been able to afford regular dental cleanings and thus prevented the cavities– this would not be the huge expensive pain-wracked issue it is now.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

It’s 3:30 in the morning and I can’t sleep.

It’s more than just insomnia, this time around. It’s pain. Physical pain. I’m so tired I’m dizzy and list to one side when I walk, but I can’t sleep because my tooth hurts too badly. I’ve been eating excedrin like candy, and I’ve taken so much my stomach hurts (also it’s hot, which makes my stomach hurt, and I’m exhausted, which makes my stomach hurt) but I still want to claw my face off. I’m really hoping my mother in law can take Nick today or else I’m basically fucked.

I hurt so badly I want to beat my head against a wall until I’m unconscious.

And I haven’t, you know, I haven’t felt like this in a long time. And the last time I felt like this, the pain was mental and not physical.

Because it’s the tiny hours of the morning, and because if I don’t have something to focus on I will do nothing but rock back and forth while whimpering and sobbing (note: I spent an hour whimpering and sobbing and folding laundry and watching a travel show on Peru, around 1:00am), I’m going to tell you about that trying emotional time.

It was my last year of college. I spent the second to last semester of college holed up in my room, incredibly depressed and overwhelmed, suffering from massive whomping panic attacks every time I left my room. This was a problem as both the bathroom and cafeteria lay outside my room, but I was able to push myself to use both facilities. I was not, however, able to leave the dorm and go to class. I went from all As and Bs to failing. Everything. Note that prior to this I had been in group therapy for a full scholastic year, and had basically given up talking about my depression, suicidal ideation, self harm, and sexual assault because it just seemed to really bring everyone else down.

My last semester got really bad. I was cutting pretty much every day, was obsessed with thinking up ways of killing myself, was hardly sleeping, and was beating my head against the floor. Literally. I was also on academic probation, but still couldn’t bring myself to go to class. I was paralyzed with fear and pain. I eventually got so bad that I scared myself and went back to mental health services and made an appointment to talk to a shrink.

I spent the 45 minute interview talking about my problems: how I was failing school and was going to get kicked out; about how I wasn’t handling my sexual assault (when I was 17) well; how I was overwhelmed and depressed and riddled with anxiety; how I was actively suicidal; how I was actively harming myself; how I was afraid I was going to kill myself; how I was out of control and terrified and a failure and incredibly depressed. I mentioned that I’d been on prescription antidepressants previously, and that they’d done me a world of good. I talked about my abusive past. And the guy I saw folded his arms tighter and tighter across his chest and leaned further and further away from me, his body language growing ever colder and more distant.

And at the end of the interview he told me I was “very self actualized” and that there was nothing he could do for me.

In point of fact, there was a hell of a lot he could have done for me. I probably should have been hospitalized; I definitely should have been medicated. He could have interceded with the school and gotten me on a different form of academic probation which would have allowed me to stay in school and graduate. He could have guided me in healing. But he didn’t. He essentially kicked me out of his office.

I was so angry, so furious (I, uh, also used to have serious rage issues that thankfully have calmed down as I’ve gotten older) that it shook me out of the worst of the suicidal feelings. I packed my shit up, and made arrangements to move off campus with a friend of mine. I think that moving in with her saved my life. At the time, my dad was still unmedicated (and hence irrational and abusive), and if I’d moved back home I probably would have killed myself. I’m not trying to be dramatic; I was in a really bad place.

I never graduated. Because I failed two semesters in a row, my financial aid was canceled. In addition to student loans, I also owe UIC thousands of dollars in tuition and fees. I can’t transfer my transcripts to any other school until that’s paid off. It will be very hard for me to get back into college, because my GPA is ass and even if it wasn’t I owe a lot of money and I don’t know how soon, if ever, I’ll be able to pay it off. And I still grapple with depression and anxiety although it’s never been as bad as those two terrifying semesters.

Usually, when I talk about why I left college without graduating, I’m evasive. I feel like a failure because I flunked out. I feel like a failure because I’m mentally ill. I’m ashamed. If I’d gotten mono and failed two semesters, or been hit by a truck and been unable to go back to school, or something else physical had happened I wouldn’t have anywhere near this sense of shame and failure. But mental illness is so stigmatized, and so associated with weakness, that I do. And carrying around a secret like this is hard.

My dad has a “congratulations, graduate!” card that he keeps in his office to send to me when I “finally” graduate. Why yes, this is manipulative and kind of abusive! Why yes, I’ve essentially lived my entire life unable to live up to his exacting standards! Why yes, he HAS often made me break down crying and wishing I’d never been born! Why yes, he HAS made it clear EXACTLY how disappointed he is in me! And I haven’t told him WHY I left school. I don’t know how, or if I can. I never told my parents I was sexually assaulted by a co-worker when I was 17. I’ve never told my parents that I self harmed from the time I was seven years old until fairly recently. I’ve never told my parents I’ve been suicidal. There’s actually a lot I’ve never told them.

I have a three month old baby, and I’ve been thinking a lot about parenting and my life lately. A lot of really bad shit I thought I’d dealt with apparently wasn’t dealt with very well; a lot of shit I thought I’d buried has been popping up. I don’t know how to deal with all of this. I am so incredibly scared of fucking up as a parent, of hurting my sweet boy. I’m afraid sometimes that I won’t be a good mom; that I can’t be a good mom. That I’m too flawed and broken to give a tiny human being what he needs. I come from a long line of fucked up, abusive people and I don’t know that I can buck that trend.

All I can do is try.

I’m kind of contemplating getting a pair of pliers and pulling this fucking tooth out, though. You know. In the meantime.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I just want to say this to people who claim that there’s no call for feminism any more because men and women have equality:

Hah!

Also, fuck you!

Because Ketel One? Does not want my filthy, disgusting vagina money! No! Ketel One is for men only!

There was a time when substance was style.
When men were unmoved by the constant current of the crowd.
When they didn’t drink their vodka from delicately painted perfume bottles.
There was a time when men were men.
It was last night.

Ketel One! It is vodka for men! AND ONLY MEN. Manly Men. Not like those other pansy girly vodkas in their delicate (girly!) painted (unmanly!) perfume bottles (probably only bitches and faggots drink that shit, am i rite?)!

As I lack a penis, Ketel One is obviously not for me. It is men only! They have a sign that says “no gurlz alloud.” And it’s really sad, because I loved their print ads, which were classy and interesting and understated.

And then there is Bacardi!

Bacardi wants you to know that I am very, very ugly.

I am fat! I have “lumpy rolls!” I have breasts that don’t look like softballs! I have a hairy mole! I have acne and I wear glasses and I have teeth that don’t look like a picket fence (ie perfectly straight). I have freckles and cellulite! I am a human being with flaws, and apparently Bacardi doesn’t want to be associated with me. If only I were a super hot woman or a man of any appearance, Bacardi would welcome my dollars with open arms. But they do not!

Alas, I will no longer spend my hard earned money on Ketel One and Bacardi. My screwdrivers and cranberry screwdrivers will be made with Grey Goose or Finlandia or some other brand. My strawberry Daiquiris and Rum and Cokes will be made with Captain Morgan’s (and Coke). I am certain they will be glad to receive my appalling vagina-tainted money without casting aspersions upon me, as a non-penis having, apparently non-penis pleasing person.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I posted earlier about the We Love Colors giveaway at Elle In Wonderland.

I totally won! Holy crap. Hoooooly craaaaaaap.

I have requested this striped pair in black and scarlet red.

When they arrive I will post a review and possibly pictures of my bad self wearing them.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Hey, does anyone in the Chicago area want/need some office supplies?

I have a shit load of post it notes, steno pads, lined paper, pens, and some other stuff. 3.5 discs, also, if you have a use for them. Let me know if you want this stuff.

I’m going to post a large amount of art supplies soon (probably next week). Paints, sketch pads, prismacolor pencils and markers, canvasses, an easel or two. I’d like a few bucks for that stuff, though.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I had to run downtown to pick up Nesko’s check yesterday, so I took the 151 Sheridan bus because it picks up a block away from the apartment and drops off almost directly in front of where I needed to be. I stuck Nick in the sling and off we went! Since it was like 1pm there was hardly anyone on the bus except for old people and students. The handicap priority seating section at the front was pretty full of frail looking elderly folks with canes. At one stop, a woman in a wheelchair was waiting, and just about everyone in that section cleared out as quickly as they could (which was pretty slowly). One old guy who looked to be in his late 70s or so and had a cane and shaky hands put up some seats so she’d have a place to park herself, and sat in the first row of fixed seats. She had some troubles getting on the bus and in place because her chair was manual and the bus aisle is kind of a tight space to work in. But she made it and we were off, and I was all “oh, Chicago, I love you. Chicagoans take care of other people.” I’ve seen this happen before, frequently, with folks helping other folks with strollers or wheely carts or what have you on and off the bus, or helping people dig out their cars after snow storms, or pulling over to help push or jumpstart cars. Chicago’s a big city, but it’s also a pretty friendly city. Which makes the random assholes really stick out.

As we trundled along a lot of people got off the bus. Old dude moved back up to his previous seat, which was the first front-facing handicap priority seat. Because he has a cane, it was easier for him to get up and down, as there were no seats in front of him. See? Anyway, he was on the right side of the bus and nobody at all was sitting on the left side of the handicap accessible seating. A woman in a motorized wheelchair boarded and started yelling at him to get out of her way. He politely put the inward facing seats up for her so she’d have a place to park her chair. He didn’t have to do that. There was much more space on the other side of the bus, and he didn’t owe her anything. He could have let HER put the seats up herself. She continued yelling at him, telling him that she needed to be where he was. He didn’t move, so she BACKED INTO HIM, PINNING HIM TO THE SEAT.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a highly offended voice.

“I TOLE YOU I NEEDED TO BE WHERE YER AT!” she bellowed at him and moved slightly forward so he could get up.

It was hard for him to get up, but he managed it, and even put the seat up for her, his old man hands shaking. She zipped into place and locked her wheels. The bus driver did absolutely NOTHING about the assault that just took place, and we set off. She got off about ten minutes later and old dude moved BACK to his seat of choice. After about fifteen minutes ANOTHER person in a wheelchair got on. Old dude tensed up. The third person in a wheelchair maneuvered his with his mouth. Had one of those special controllers. He was also the most graceful of the three. He ALSO took his place on the left side of the bus, where nobody was sitting. Somebody put the seats up for him because, again, Chicago is pretty awesome.

Nick and I got off the bus and picked up Nesko’s check and some tax forms and then walked to the Ogilvie Train Station, which is in the Citigroup Building, which looks like a waterfall made of glass. I was going to stop by Garret’s Popcorn, but then decided not to because that would just complicate matters, so we walked to the train station. Because I get lost at the drop of a hat I did go slightly out of my way, but I didn’t get LOST lost. It was about a mile walk, much of it under elevated trains that roared by overhead. The noise barely bothered Nick; the sun in his eyes did and he screwed his face up against it. Walking a mile with a baby strapped to my chest with 3 layers of jersey knit fabric made me sweat a fair amount, I’ll admit it. When we got to the train station my feet hurt because I need new shoes, and we trudged inside into the coolth. I took him out of the sling and put my jacket on a table and put him on top of that so he could look at the ceiling and de-sweatify a bit. I bought and ate some shitty bourbon chicken at the food court. In retrospect, I should have gotten a gyros. I bought and drank a bottle of water and a bottle of lemonade. I found a Garret’s Popcorn stand at the train station. BOOYAH! We had an uneventful train trip to Nesko’s office.

On the drive home we encountered a one-two punch of the sun being in Nick’s eyes and him being hungry, so we pulled into a McDonalds to feed him and refresh ourselves. I was still thirsty as all hell, so Nesko got a jumbo McLarge huge soda. There were some old ladies Holding Court and I learned the following:

• People from the Islands of Greece are totally different from people from the mainlands! They didn’t specify why, so if you know, please tell me!
• Nesko is totally diabetic because he got THREE REFILLS OF SODA omg! (note: he only got 1 refill and we (I) only drank half of the second refill). Excessive thirst is a sign of diabetes! And too much sugar causes diabetes! It is a one-two punch of irony! He is OBVIOUSLY in his THIRTIES and it is SO SAD that he HAS DIABETES and DOESN’T KNOW IT and is GOING TO DIE. MAYBE HE SHOULD GET THAT LOOKED AT.
• We are UTTERLY TERRIBLE PARENTS for hauling our baby around in upper 70s degree sunny weather with NO COVER AT ALL on him. NONE. There was NO COVER on that baby we were carrying. HOW SAD. What a POOR BABY.

They were pretty loud with their personal, judgmental observations, unlike the douchebag who sat next to us and Held Forth to his sister about what filthy whores women are!

Did you know that the most people a woman should ever date is two? That’s it! Any more and she’s a HOOOOOOER. And they should never ever ever cheat on a dude because it’s much harder for a dude to be cheated on than a chick. And if a dude cheats on a chick, that chick should just suck it up and deal, because it’s dudely nature to do so, and far too many chicks turn into hard unfeeling bitchez when dudes cheat on them. WHATEVER, BITCHEZ.

He then ran down Shitty Girlfriends He’s Dated.

• The chick who kissed someone else before they started going out. Sure, she denied it, but he totally knows the dude she kissed and he totally said she did it, so it totally served her right that he told all her friends she was a giant whorebag slut and ruined her reputation and made all her friends hate her. Because she was a giant whorebag slut. Seriously. What kind of girl KISSES a DUDE? She should have held herself forever pure in anticipation of dating HIM! Bitch.
• The chick who didn’t understand the complicated directions he gave her over the phone. What a moron! Good thing he told all her friends what a complete and utter retard she is and made them all hate her! I mean, if she wanted friends she shouldn’t have dared question him, amirite?
• The chick who came over to his parents’ house for Christmas and got all upset when he ignored her for half an hour to text other chicks. What a bitch! Good thing he cussed her out and made her cry! Bitchez, gotta put them in their place, amirite? How dare she expect basic human consideration and for her host to act like a host and not ignore her to focus on other people who aren’t even there! She should have made stiff, polite conversation with his parents who she doesn’t know instead!
• That cunt he dated who farted all the time. Don’t worry. He made sure to tell EVERYONE that she farted constantly and that they were RAUNCHY AS ALL HELL. Bitch should put a cork in it and stop assailing his delicate nose with her bodily functions. Don’t worry. People stopped talking to her for a LONG time after he spoke with them! THAT will show her!

There was also a dude pacing outside the restaurant talking on his cellphone.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m essentially useless without that wand, but I could sell it and buy a lot more wands!”

Oh, fast food restaurants. You expose such a delightful cross section of humanity!

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Oh my God.

Oh. My. God.

OH MY GOD.

The Chicago Post Office is for sale! It was originally up for $300million, but it is a buyer’s market right now, so it’s up for auction. Starting bid is $300,000.00. THAT IS JUST ABOUT GOING RATE FOR A SINGLE FAMILY HOME AROUND CHICAGO. I am throbbing with desire to purchase and rehab the building.

The Chicago Post Office is super freaking huge because of Montgomery Ward, who had the revolutionary idea of making sure customers were satisfied. His mail order business had a money back guarantee. As a result, his warehouse sent out a metric tonne of packages from Chicago, and the post office was built to accommodate the amount of business it had. It’s made of Indiana Limestone, not Joliet, which means it’s white and not yellowish. It’s FREAKING HUGE. You know how sometimes people carve passages into Sequoia trees to put roads through them? Yeah. The same thing happened to the Post Office, with the Congress Expressway running through it. HOW COOL IS THAT. It’s also a movie star.

If I had the money to purchase and rehab this building, I would turn it into apartments, lofts, and studio space for artists. I would establish a few large rooms for gatherings and maybe small conventions. I would put a cafe, a bar, an indie book store, and an art supply store on the first level. I would totally and entirely market this toward artists and writers. TOTALLY and ENTIRELY. It could be AN ENCLAVE. Move over, Portland! Fuck you, West Coast! Chicago will become MORE AWESOME THAN YOU.

And, in this fantasy land I’m spinning, I would also have a pony that shits gold and farts rainbows and can fly.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Elle in Wonderland is running a promo to win a pair of tights from “We Love Colors.” I’ve been browsing their website for awhile now thinking about what kind of tights I could encase my fat legs in, so this promo has me very excited.

My top choices are these white striped tights, these black striped tights, or solid color maroon which will match this really wild dress I have that I’m, frankly, a little scared to wear because it’s PATTERN! and COLOR! and OMGCLEAVAGE!

Swing by her blog to leave a comment entry.

They have dude hosiery, too.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Nesko and I own a table that is very very nice. It is some rich dark wood (fruit wood, maybe? not quite the color of cherry, or the texture) and goes from “very very small” to “round and seats four” to “insert two leaves and seat eight.” I’m pretty sure that it originally had at least one more leaf, but we got the table from my mom who got it at an auction and it only came with the two leaves.

We sit at it in folding chairs because we can’t afford real, wooden chairs. We are classy. And yes, I keep looking on Craigslist for decent used chairs, but they’ve already been purchased by the time I email or call. Life is just so hard.

So anyway, we have this really nice table. It’s great for eating breakfast at, or having people over for dinner at, or for playing board games with people at. I usually keep it covered in a table cloth because I don’t want the wood getting scratched, dinged, or sun faded or dried out. So its loveliness is often hidden, which is a shame, but that means it’s lovely for later as well. Sometimes we eat with placemats instead of a table cloth.

My baby’s god daddy was in town visiting us a short while ago, and we played “Cities and Knights of Catan.” I lost, because I always lose. It is my nature. We played on the naked table because a table cloth can make the board (which is made of tiles set close together) lumpy and affect game play. We ate pizza and drank cokes and screwdrivers and had a really good time. And I felt like a rampaging bitch because I kept reminding Mike to use a coaster.

Other people habitually use coasters! We got ours at flippin’ TARGET. It’s a normal thing! But I felt like such a douche reminding him to use one. And I felt really paranoid. We don’t use coasters for ANY other piece of furniture, but then all of our other furniture is crap laminate. I just… really like this table. It’s a “real” table, made of wood and not plastic or veneer, and it makes me feel like an adult. I’ve had dinner parties at this table, complete with multi course meals and wine and pomegranates for dessert. Adult! And I want to keep it nice.

But I feel like a poser, all using coasters and badgering people not to put their coke cans directly on the wood; like I’m faking this whole “adult” thing in a fairly desperate and obvious way.

What’s the nicest thing that YOU own? Are you paranoid about keeping it nice and in good shape? Am I a crazy person? Let me know what you think.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I was trying to think of a cute, catchy headline like “proximity to grocery stores fuels obesity?” or “since when is access to a wide range of foods a bad thing?” or “douche bag writer exposes fat bias.” But seriously, what the fuck is this shit?

One might think that “everyday low prices” for food would mean that people would eat much more–stuff themselves, even. [...] Further, we found that Wal-Mart’s effect on weight is largest for women, the poor, African-Americans and people who live in urban areas.

Fat people aren’t a glutenous mass of binge eating gluttons, cramming sacks of groceries into their gaping maws at the first opportunity. Providing people with a grocery store that sells, you know, groceries doesn’t trigger an epic shift in corpulence simply because food is available. I cannot BELIEVE that article includes that as a concept, that providing people with groceries to feed themselves with will make people fat. Or do skinny people not use grocery stores?

I’ve lived places where it was very difficult to purchase fruits or vegetables, because the only local stores where either convenience stores that either don’t carry said items or mark them up atrociously, or the fruit and veggie selection was horrible (Imagine walking into a store and every single cauliflower is mildewed and all the apples are shriveled). To get actual fruit or veggies took three hours of commute time, spread over 2 buses and a train and about two miles of walking. I’d get off work at 5:00 and not get home until 8:00 or later, which is particularly miserable in the winter in Chicago. Or, I could hit the convenience store across the street, skip the healthy components, and have a weaker dollar because all the food was marked up. I frequently didn’t have the energy for a 3 hour trek carrying 30 pounds of groceries and would just go across the street.

So given a choice between really expensive or very unappealing fruits and veggies and something less healthy (but filling) like chips or crackers, what do you chose? If your only bread option is enriched white bread, you’re not getting much sandwich related fiber. Sliced turkey or chicken is a hell of a lot more expensive than bologna or fatty peanut butter. “Real” cheese is more expensive than pasteurized processed cheese food, and also tends to go moldy if not used up quickly (assuming you don’t purchase it moldy; I’ve had that experience as well). Not everyone has access to a Whole Foods or Trader Joes, and even if you live near one that doesn’t mean you can afford their prices.

The first is the substitution effect: a change in consumption mix due to a change in relative prices. If a bag of salad is $2 and a bag of potato chips is $1, then the price of salad in terms of chips is two bags and the price of a bag of chips is half a bag of salad. If a Wal-Mart opens and reduces the price of salad to $1 a bag and the price of chips to 75 cents a bag, the “salad price” of chips has risen (from 1TK2 bag to 3TK4 bag) and the “chip price” of salad has fallen from 2 bags to 4TK3 bags. In short, salad has become cheaper relative to chips.

The other effect from a change in prices is the income effect, which is a change in consumption due to a change in purchasing power. If Wal-Mart sells food at lower prices–even if our incomes don’t change–every dollar can buy more.

No shit, Sherlock. How is this even news? Seriously? Have these people never had to go shopping? Never had to make a budget? Never had to decide between buying fresh vegetables or buying milk? Never had to skip the lunch meat and keep making peanut butter sandwiches even though you can barely choke down another God damned peanut butter sandwich but that’s all you can afford?

We’ve illustrated how changes in relative prices and purchasing power affect people’s decisions, and this research suggests that people do make the right decisions when the prices of healthy foods fall and purchasing power rises.

Ooooh, right. Because women, poor people, People of Color, and people living in urban areas eat crap food and are unhealthy and fat because they’re just too fucking dumb to know otherwise, despite the near-constant barrage from every media source on the planet dictating what, when, and how much people should eat. It has nothing to do with food availability or price. Imagine that!

Americans live in one of the richest countries in the world, yet lots of folks are physically unable to realistically buy affordable, healthy groceries. It’s very, very difficult to be healthy without a healthy diet, and it’s incredibly depressing that the assumption this dude had, right off the bat, was that providing access to affordable groceries would cause OMG TEH FAT. Seriously, what?

But I guess when you assume that non-white-male folks just shove corn chips into their gaping maws at every opportunity, you’ll assume that given the chance to buy corn chips in bulk at a low cost will lead to madness. Of course, that’s an assumption with no basis in fact what so ever.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

EVERYTHING is making me cry lately, which makes me think I need to either change my birth control or my antidepressants. Fun times.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Shut up.

Shut the fuck up.

Seriously.

When someone says something like “I’m disturbed by the fact that IN TEH FUTURE women of color are still portrayed with caucasion-looking hair” or “How can you write an AU book about the discovery of America and not have indigenous people wtf” or “why are non-caucasion characters portrayed as “exotic” or “dangerous” or over sexualized” or “that thing you just said is offensive” or “why are non-white characters turned white when translated from one medium to another” the proper response is not to argue or to turn the conversation onto yourself and what YOU think and what YOU feel and what YOUR experiences are.

The proper response is to shut the fuck up and listen. Pay attention. Put your preconceptions and your self aside and listen to what other people are saying.

I’m getting really tired of people falling all over themselves declaring that stuff that is racist really isn’t! No! You just don’t understand! See, there’s this whole big song and dance explanation and… no. Shut up. Listen to what people are telling you. Then act with respect.

It really shouldn’t be that hard.

Listen.

Act with respect.

Can we at least take two steps forward without a commensurate step back?

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Dr. Tiller, one of the few doctors in the USA who is willing and able to perform late-term abortion, was shot to death while leaving church services. He has been shot before, his clinic has been bombed, the women who have gone to him for health services have been intimidated, terrified, threatened, and injured. Now he is dead, murdered by a person or group who doesn’t believe that women have the right to make decisions about their health.

Late term abortions, those performed after 20 weeks, represent only 1.4% of total abortions performed by doctors in the USA. 1.4%. Even if you nudge the definition of “late term” back to 12 weeks gestation, a time where the fetus is maybe sort of possibly viable if you have cutting edge technology and millions of dollars to spend on health care (or a willingness to declare bankruptcy instead of paying astronomical medical bills), the total of abortions performed is only 6.2%. Yet late term abortions are presented by those who call themselves “Pro Life” (yet aren’t above murdering people) as incredibly common. Save the babies! It’s an epidemic of murder! God’s baby garden is getting too full of precious miracles!

Of course, the women who chose late term abortions generally do so not because they suddenly realize OMG I AM PREGNANT OH NOES if only I weren’t such a slut! I better get rid of the evidence and murder this baby! They do so because they are physically or financially unable to have an abortion earlier, because a sexual partner or family member prevented them from having an abortion earlier, because they did not know that it was possible to get an abortion or that it was ideal to have an abortion before X weeks. In other words, most women who have late term abortions do so out of ignorance or fear of someone hurting them. Those eager and willing to murder men who provide medical services to women, however, are quick to paint these women as too stupid to make any sort of medical decision for themselves, even when it’s the efforts of these murderers that have ensured that young women in this country grow up taught little to nothing about their bodies and contraception, and have fought to deny funding to organizations that provide contraception and reproductive health services, and which assist women who are having financial difficulties while pregnant.

So women whose much wanted babies are hydrocephalic or have malformed organs or don’t have brain tissue or are already dead and starting to rot are pretty much fucked because the doctors who can provide needed medical services to them are either prohibited by law from providing those services or have to worry about being murdered if they continue to provide these medical services. Assuming, of course, that the women themselves can make the journey, often across state lines, to a medical provider and then can safely enter and exit his or her clinic without getting harassed or assaulted themselves.

People who claim to be religious and who claim to “respect life” value the “life” of a lump of poorly formed non-viable tissue over the life of the woman carrying said tissue in her body. People who call themselves “pro life” have no issue with attacking women. While claiming to “respect life,” they seek to inhibit women’s access to health care, contraceptives (one of the best ways, if not THE best way, of reducing abortions is to reduce the amount of unwanted pregnancies) and contraceptive education. After negatively impacting her reproductive health, these individuals have also tried to strip away social safety nets that can help women with children. Funding has been pulled for health care, WIC, food stamps, and child care and welfare programs. Women are expected to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps” while also going into debt paying for vaccinations for their kids. They are expected to go to work and support themselves and their kids, but child care is so expensive that it’s very possible to turn over one’s entire paycheck to a day care facility. There’s a reason so many little kids from economically depressed backgrounds are shaken to death or otherwise killed by their care providers: their moms can’t afford anything better for them.

Women are expected to be virginal creatures, and if they have sex these “pro life” assholes expect them to be punished for it. They deserve pregnancy, as a punishment. They deserve poverty, as a punishment. Women aren’t meant to enjoy sex, and those who have sex out of the strictly defined marital bed deserve to be punished. And since a potential baby has more value than a living woman, even if the fetus is non viable (and conceived during heterosexual wedlock in accordance with Christian religious values), said fetus should be treasured and made comfortable despite any risk to the mother’s health. Because, you know, those women had SEX and sex is BAD when women have it, and they need to just shut the fuck up already and PAY THE PRICE. And if that price means KNOWING that their babies don’t have heads, they need to just continue gestating them for 28 more weeks with all the physical pain and discomfort that pregnancy entails and also the emotional discomfort and pain with knowing that their babies are going to be born DEAD, and carry that lump of malformed tissue “to term” and either push it out their disgusting, filthy cootches or else have major abdominal surgery to remove it. Because every life is sacred, as long as it’s not an adult woman’s. Sure, the precious angel fetus might die and start to rot and poison the woman and kill her slowly, but that bitch shouldn’t have been having sex anyway, am I right? Sin of Eve and all that.

There is a continual chipping away at my rights as a human being. Women should be able to go to clinics to get cervical exams without assholes who claim to represent Jesus shoving pictures of dead babies at them and harassing and assaulting them. Women should be able to visit womens’ health doctors without worrying about being shot to death doing so. Women should be considered, wait for it, rational human beings who are capable of making their own health and reproductive choices; not treated as childlike innocents who need these choices made FOR them. Time and again individuals and organizations have targeted people who provide medical services to women and have stalked, harassed, threatened, and killed them. Places where women receive medical care have literally been bombed and destroyed. Clinics that provide reproductive medical services (often to less affluent women) like PAP smears, vaginal and cervical exams (you know, to detect cancer), and contraceptive services (which, you know, prevent pregnancy), are picketed and pressured to not open. Women seeking medical care are verbally harassed and sometimes assaulted or murdered. This has been going on for YEARS and rarely is anything done about it. This is terrorism directed at women, and it’s going unpunished.

I’ll leave you with this graphic:

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Let me lay this out for you, and then tell me if you think it’s racist or not.

Let’s say there’s a book, or series of books. Virtually all the characters in the series are white. The series is then made into a tv show, and one of the white characters (character A) is made Black.

In the series, A is successful and self made. She has her own business. In the tv show, A is barely able to keep a job because of her bad attitude and winds up becoming a bartender and having a sexual relationship with her boss.

In the tv show, A is the only character who comes from a fucked up single parent background. Yes, a white parent is a single mother, but she was apparently married when she had her kids and is now divorced. Further, A’s mother is a rampaging hot mess of an abusive alcoholic who kind of acts like a crack head. A was primarily raised by the main character’s (white) family.

In the tv show, A and her mother (who, again, are Black) go to a voodoo witch doctor out in the woods because A’s mom is convinced she “has a demon in her” and needs an exorcism. Although a skeptic, A becomes convinced that she, also, needs an exorcism and has the Black voodoo witch doctor perform it out in the middle of the woods.

A admits she is “fucked up” and has “self esteem problems.” Frequently.

A speaks her mind and is outspoken in general. Is she confident, or is she A Sassy Black Woman?

In the book series, B is a Black male who has no relationship to A, who is white. In the tv series, A and B are cousins, apparently because all Black people are related?

B, the Black male, is a flamboyant gay man who wears nail polish and clip on earrings, has sex for money, has a pornographic web site, and sells a lot of drugs, including Vampire blood. He has sex with a Vampire in order to get the Vampire blood, which he both uses and sells.

B talks about “juujuu,” tying him in with A and her mother’s voodoo witch doctor woodland exorcism.

A is one of the more complex and compelling characters in the tv show. She’s raw and wounded and in everyone’s face about it, and nowhere near as passive as a lot (most?) of the other characters. B is also really interesting, and his character seems to be one of the most real on the show; perhaps because of the personality of the actor or something. He’s not a huge character, but he definitely has presence and a very well developed sense of character. I like both the characters, in fact like them a lot more than the main characters on the show. But they seem to fall into a lot of racist tropes.

Unemployable! Superstitious! Sassy! Prey to drug use! Sexually loose! Broken families!

I haven’t read the book series, but was talking about the tv show with two different people who’d read the books but hadn’t seen the show (or had only seen one or two episodes). I asked a few questions about A, then about B as well, and the responses were pretty much “what.” regarding the changes.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I received an email from someone I went to high school with. Back then, he was brilliant, kind, funny, and very good looking. I am completely not surprised that he is Doing Something With His Life: something very big and important.

I don’t know if I can make this event because I have an infant, but I’d like to go. I thought those of you in the area might be interested as well.

Check out their fairly heartbreaking reasons for needing a hospital and consider going or at least spreading the word.

I write to you regarding the world-class hospital the GEANCO Foundation family is developing in Nigeria. Please mark your calendar and join us to learn about our progress on this much-needed project. The event will take place on Friday, June 26 at 7:00pm at the Hyatt Center in downtown Chicago. We would be delighted and honored to see you there!

Sincerely,
Afam Onyema

Chief Operating Officer
The GEANCO Foundation

Please join fellow GEANCO supporters for a fun night of tasty food and lively Nigerian music. We will provide a progress report on the hospital project, and a few GEANCO donors will discuss why they continue to support our work. A detailed electronic invitation will be sent to you in a few weeks. Right now, all we ask is that you consider making time for us on June 26.

This is an open event. There will be no charge to attend.

Please Spread the Word!
I also ask that you forward this note to at least three of your Chicago-area friends and colleagues. You can help make this our biggest event yet!

If you have any questions, please contact me at aonyema@geanco.org or 708-439-1462.

Thank you!

Warmest Regards,
Afam

Where & When
Mayer Brown LLP
The Hyatt Center
71 S. Wacker Drive
Chicago, IL 60606
Friday, June 26, 2009
7:00PM-9:00PM

The mission of The GEANCO Foundation (www.geanco.org) is to develop and manage world-class medical, educational and athletic facilities in the African country of Nigeria. Our projects will improve health conditions and learning opportunities for Nigerians and will provide powerfully beneficial opportunities for collaboration and cooperation between Americans and West Africans for the benefit of all. Our first project is the development of a world-class hospital-Augustine Memorial-in Anambra State.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

Since having a baby I’ve spent a LOT more time watching really damn boring and frequently offensive daytime tv. I was watching “The View” today while cuddling a very cranky post-vaccine baby when Justin Long came on as guest to promote his new movie “Drag me to Hell.” “Drag me to Hell” is a simply HILARIOUS movie about a woman who is cursed by a disgusting, toothless, greedy Gypsy. Oh ho ho! Those Gypsies! They are almost human! Look at how ugly and backwards they are, tossing about their magical demonic curses! In fact, they are so non-human that most reviews don’t even bother to capitalize the “G” in “Gypsy.” Well, you know. It’s not like gypsies can READ or anything. Well, anything other than chicken entrails. HAW HAW HAW it sure is fun to mock a frequently maligned minority and set them up as the constant villain! Then, of course, there’s also the question of why Long was featured as a guest since apparently he does next to nothing in the movie.

While interviewing him, someone (Whoopi?) asked if he believed in curses. He says that no, of course not, he doesn’t! But he was raised Catholic (lolcatholiclol) and they have ALL SORTS of curses! Uh… what? Seriously? What flavor of Catholicism would that be? Because I was raised Roman Catholic, went to religious schools and everything, and I don’t remember any mention of curses. I have to admit, that caught me by surprise; I was waiting for some cannibalism or vampire joke (loltransubstantiationlol) so the whole “hot bed of curses” allegation really came out of left field.

Of course none of this was questioned. Because Gypsies aren’t a real group of people; they are fantasy caricatures who toss off curses left and right and are non-Christian and animalistic and ugly and thus it’s totally valid to have them be the odious villain. And I’m not trying to claim that Catholics are sooooo discriminated against, OMG you guys, you just don’t UNDERSTAND what it’s like to be a persecuted religious minority! But seriously. Curses? I don’t really get people who mock Catholicism in that way (because dudes, there is so much that deserves deriding). I would never ever EVER make fun of Judaism or Islam or most sects of Christianity and claim they are all about the curses and crazy times. But then, maybe I’m just classier than a gaggle of douchebags on tv.

Oh, that’s scary.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I am a hoarder.

I hoard things.

I think this is primarily for two reasons:
1) my parents both hoard stuff, in response to THEIR parents’ actions and their early lives
2) I’ve lost a lot of things to floods and one fire

What this means is that I’ve hauled a lot of CRAP around with me as I’ve moved from apartment to apartment. I mean, seriously. Notes from high school anatomy class? Who needs that when you’re 30? I’ve been purging a lot of stuff, jettisoning more with each move, paring down my life. Yesterday I emptied out 3 boxes, sorting their contents. I threw out a lot of stuff, started assembling a box of cool stuff to send to a friend of mine, and packed up some shelves and hooks that will be installed in a building Nesko’s family owns.

I also threw out a huge amount of correspondence from 1997 - 1999. I used to be a huge letter writer, and I knew a lot of people online. We’d send letters and doodles and photos back and forth, and it was very cool. But the vast majority of those letters? I have no reason to hang on to them. I threw most of them out. The only ones I saved are from a woman I’m still friends with, some decade later.

She’s a good friend. We’ve talked on the phone a fair bit, and our email and chat correspondence could reach the moon and back, at least twice. We’ve met face to face twice, and she keeps sending me real estate listings for her area (hella cheap huge houses, almost no roads, no good pizza). She’s smart and hilarious and creative and she listens to my problems but doesn’t let me wallow in self pity or be passive aggressive. She calls me on my shit and makes me face unpleasant truths about my life, and myself. But she is also quick to point out the positives I have and to encourage me. I can always count on her to give me an honest answer about anything I ask her.

I’m not super good at making friends. I never have been. Acquaintances? sure! a lot of people like me, but there are very few people I feel a connection to. She’s one of them, and I would never have met her or gotten to know her without the internet.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I don’t do this.

I almost never do this.

By “this” I mean jump on a begging train and ask for folks to donate money to someone online. The times I’ve done it in the past where for an artist who needed oral surgery to keep all her teeth from falling out and for breast cancer. I do it for stuff that hits close to home.

Gwendomama, whose blog I read only rarely, had a husband. He apparently beat the shit out of her, and then spent all the family’s money on his bail. He didn’t pay rent, bills, etc. So after being betrayed by her husband, who beat the shit out of her, and having to deal with police, etc. She finds out that if she doesn’t come up with $800 that suddenly isn’t there she’ll lose power.

Stay classy, abusive dudes. Stay fuckin’ classy.

I’m very furious at the guy for doing this. I’m furious that a woman who “played by the rules” and called the cops on her abuser and “did the right thing” (you know, because women who stay with their abusers and don’t report them are unfeminist scum who deserve what they get, according to some people) is being fucked like this. A person who was assaulted in her own home had her assaulter steal from her. A person who was assaulted now faces a struggle to keep her utilities on and not get evicted due to the direct actions of the person who assaulted her.

This is beyond fucked up. Seriously.

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

I was talking about some of my thrift-store finds with my mom, and mentioned that I’d gotten a pair of capris and a pair of too-long jeans that I might cut capri length.

She advised me against capri length pants, on account of they might make my legs look short.

Look. I’m 5′2″. Short of strapping on stilts, there’s no way of making my legs look not short.

That’s just… how I am. Short an’ stumpy.

The length of my pants doesn’t affect that in any way.