It takes a Trump presidency for strangers in Boston to smile at one another on public transportation. Don’t get too excited: it was still a New England grimace, not a warm Southern greeting. But as I entered the Red Line with my poster in tow, strangers bearing unfortunately shaped hats, plastic bags, and colorful signs all acknowledged each other as comrades on the way to the Boston Women’s March.
This Saturday, I joined my parents, friends, and millions of folks across the world to march in protest against the rigged election of Donald Trump. After meeting my parents, my mom’s colleague, her partner, and their young son for breakfast, our motley crew headed over to the Boston Common to join a sea of people.
Here’s the thing: if you want my future, I really, really, want you to take my past into account. Truly, the Spice Girls do not describe my philosophy on relationships in any way shape or form (except for the whole thing about getting along with my friends. Baby, Posh, Ginger, Sporty, Scary, and I can all agree on that). Just to show you how much this song won’t work, I’ve provided an annotated version for you:
If you want my future, forget my past duly noted that this statement is erroneous
If you wanna get with me, better make it fast actually, I’m ok with a slow burn
Now don’t go wasting my precious time is getting with someone ever a waste or just another learning experience?
Get your act together and we’ll be just fine all applicants must have their act somewhat together in order to audition for the position of my lover
Now that we’ve determined that late nineties British pop songs are not an accurate instruction manual for loving me, let me provide you with a better sense of where I come from and what I need.
I’m sorry readers, I totally fooled you. You thought I was deep. But, I recently had the same philosophical discovery as Kylie Jenner:
One of the things I realized is that I am not great at expressing emotional vulnerability with romantic partners. I’m much more open with my friends, and I started that journey in the fall of my senior year of college when I had to explain to the people who loved me that I was getting my anxiety under control. But I haven’t done a great job of letting my romantic partners see my anxious side, mostly because I wanted to ignore my own issues and act as if I was perfect so that everything would just get better on its own.*
*I do not recommend this strategy.
Until recently, I hadn’t really explain my post-breakup feelings to any of my romantic partners. Instead, I decided to tell the internet. But that’s kind of a cop out. Although the things I wanted to say were getting out there, they weren’t reaching the people who actually needed to hear them.
So, a couple of weeks ago, I had a couple of glasses of red wine and had an honest conversation with one of my exes. And you know what? It was GREAT!
Have you ever wonder who reads my posts before they go public? Who listens to nascent blog ideas when they’re in the word-vomit stage? On this one year blogiversary, I would be remiss if I did not publicly thank two of my friends who are also my editors. The Part-Time Diary would not exist without them. Or, it might exist, but with more excessive semi-colons, half-finished ideas, and IDEAS IN ALL CAPS THAT I WRITE TO MYSELF AS NOTES AND WOULD FORGET TO DELETE IF SOMEONE DIDN’T TELL ME TO.
(see? that sentence ends in a preposition. Too bad I can’t run my post about my editors by my editors).
I have to state the obvious: the capitalist, misogynist, racist, transphobic, xenophobic, ableist, elitist state did not originate with Donald Trump.
Instead, activist organizations have been working for years to eradicate injustice in the world. Some of you have seen Jezebel’s comprehensive list of organizations that need your support.
I’d like to highlight some non-profits that I have personally donated to you may have overlooked. Smaller local non-profits need your love and your dollars. If you are able to, I hope you consider making a donation today, and truly putting your money where your mouth is.
Like many great ideas, it started in a bar. On a sultry evening in July, I gathered with three of my friends from college at a dive bar in the East Village. As we traded work experiences, campus gossip, and various cheap cocktails, my friend Allie breathlessly sang the praises of an astrologer she had visited earlier in the month.
“I walked in to Deborah’s apartment, and she looked me up and down and said, ‘Well, aren’t you in need of guidance!'” she reported. “And I said, ‘You’re right, I am! Her session changed my life. My sister even visits her weekly.”
It was all the persuasion I needed to book a session with Deborah the astrologer. In that moment of a long and underwhelming summer, I too was in need of guidance. I had left Boston with a year of teaching experience, a job offer, and a clean slate awaiting me in August. I had also experienced a short relationship that left me pondering about what I really needed and wanted in a partner. All I desired was some reassurance: was I going the right way? And why did I insist on falling in love with men who already had girlfriends?