The Weezie Going Blog

lolliblog:


Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have been criticized for letting their 7 year old daughter Shiloh dress like a boy. It seems some think their refusal to discourage Shiloh’s predilection for cropped hair and traditionally masculine garb makes them unfit parents.
I was once in their shoes. My youngest by one minute daughter Eliza spent her childhood dressed in boys’ clothes, specifically, her older brother’s hand-me-downs. Like Jolie and Pitt, I felt that if this made her happy and comfortable, it was fine by me.
People had a tendency to lump the triplets together. As erroneous and annoying as this was, I figured that if we just raised them as individuals things would work out. Occasionally I’d dress them in matching stuff but most of the time they wore whatever they wanted. Rachael liked the color pink, along with a red turtleneck worn inside-out on her head so she could pretend she was Ariel, the Little Mermaid. Sarah liked sparkly jelly sandals and leggings. Eliza liked Jake’s cast-offs: his Ninja Turtles T-shirt, his cargo shorts, and his ratty Converse hi-tops. The times I did dress the girls for special occasions it would be only a matter of time before Eliza whipped off her dress and was running around in tights or underpants.
She also liked her hair short and uncombed, and was often mistaken for a boy. She didn’t care. But I caught a lot of grief from people I knew and complete strangers because I didn’t intercede. She’ll be confused when she grows up, people would say. Or, as one elderly woman in line at the grocery store said, “She should be wearing girls’ clothes. You don’t want her to turn gay”. Eliza, who was around four at the time, said, “That lady is dumb.” “Yes, honey, she sure is,” I replied.
Today, Eliza lives in Brooklyn. She does stand-up comedy several nights a week and works two jobs. With her waist-length ringlets and love of crop tops, no one would mistake her for a boy now. Her metamorphosis has been cool to watch from the sidelines, purely organic, like watching a flower bloom, only in this case, a flower holding nun chucks and the middle school record for push-ups. 
I look at photos of Shiloh I see the same feisty jaw-set, the same spunk and confidence I saw in seven-year-old Eliza. This is what self-knowledge looks like. It’s a force to be reckoned with, and by reckoned, I don’t mean judged or manipulated. I mean celebrated.

Mom, thanks for letting me be myself. Always.

lolliblog:

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have been criticized for letting their 7 year old daughter Shiloh dress like a boy. It seems some think their refusal to discourage Shiloh’s predilection for cropped hair and traditionally masculine garb makes them unfit parents.

I was once in their shoes. My youngest by one minute daughter Eliza spent her childhood dressed in boys’ clothes, specifically, her older brother’s hand-me-downs. Like Jolie and Pitt, I felt that if this made her happy and comfortable, it was fine by me.

People had a tendency to lump the triplets together. As erroneous and annoying as this was, I figured that if we just raised them as individuals things would work out. Occasionally I’d dress them in matching stuff but most of the time they wore whatever they wanted. Rachael liked the color pink, along with a red turtleneck worn inside-out on her head so she could pretend she was Ariel, the Little Mermaid. Sarah liked sparkly jelly sandals and leggings. Eliza liked Jake’s cast-offs: his Ninja Turtles T-shirt, his cargo shorts, and his ratty Converse hi-tops. The times I did dress the girls for special occasions it would be only a matter of time before Eliza whipped off her dress and was running around in tights or underpants.

She also liked her hair short and uncombed, and was often mistaken for a boy. She didn’t care. But I caught a lot of grief from people I knew and complete strangers because I didn’t intercede. She’ll be confused when she grows up, people would say. Or, as one elderly woman in line at the grocery store said, “She should be wearing girls’ clothes. You don’t want her to turn gay”. Eliza, who was around four at the time, said, “That lady is dumb.” “Yes, honey, she sure is,” I replied.

Today, Eliza lives in Brooklyn. She does stand-up comedy several nights a week and works two jobs. With her waist-length ringlets and love of crop tops, no one would mistake her for a boy now. Her metamorphosis has been cool to watch from the sidelines, purely organic, like watching a flower bloom, only in this case, a flower holding nun chucks and the middle school record for push-ups.

I look at photos of Shiloh I see the same feisty jaw-set, the same spunk and confidence I saw in seven-year-old Eliza. This is what self-knowledge looks like. It’s a force to be reckoned with, and by reckoned, I don’t mean judged or manipulated. I mean celebrated.

Mom, thanks for letting me be myself. Always.

New OkCupid Profile

I’m updating my OkCupid profile so I won’t get as many creeps messaging me.


My self-summary
Lover, fighter, murderer- I accidentally killed my dog :( (I’m so sorry dad)

What I’m doing with my life
Living in regret, mourning the loss of my dog and apologizing profusely for the dog incident

I’m really good at
Dancing :)

The first things people usually notice about me
I’ll probably be crying/sobbing about my dog or that I have blue eyes :)

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Haven’t really eaten, read or watched anything because of the unfortunate dog thing but I do LOVE chocolate

The six things I could never do without
I don’t really need too much, but I would like my dog back

I spend a lot of time thinking about
The unfortunate turns my life has taken and ways I could change the past and how to get that dog back to life

On a typical Friday night I am
Crying and or dancing :) :(

The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I have an Ok Cupid profile and I accidentally killed a dog

Pop-Tarts sound so fun, but you know what? They’re not. They’re a dead, gross version of a pastry and I hate them for making me think otherwise.

I’m not a violent or angry person, but sometimes when I see someone yawn I want to smash their face into tiny pieces and feed it to a dog and then make that dog vomit and put the person’s face back together and punch them again and feed it to the dog again and then make the face normal again because I would feel bad. I would also make sure the dog enjoyed the taste and everything. I’m not a monster.

You know what’s crazy to think about? If Ariel the Little Mermaid were to die, what her eulogy would be like. Do you think the fact that she was a mermaid would be addressed? Or would that be glossed over? And if it was included, how much detail would one go into? Like would the whole Ursula ordeal be mentioned?Also would Flounder, Sebastian and her other sea friends be able to go to said funeral? Another crazy thing to think about is that I NEED A JOB!

I think Maria von Trapp should get a life. These are a few of her favorite things?

1)Raindrops on roses-Rain sucks and roses are for losers.
2)Whiskers on kittens-DUMB.
3)Bright copper kettles-Who cares about kettles give me something I can actually enjoy, like money and or someone to love me. I’m lonely.
4)Warm woolen mittens-I want gloves. Mittens are for babies.
5)Brown paper packages tied up with strings-wrap my presents in nice paper PLEASE.
6)Cream colored ponies-DIE.
7)Crisp apple strudels-YUCK.
8)Doorbells-I could care less about doorbells. Walk into my house for all I care. Ring the bell and all hell breaks lose. I swear. I HATE the sound of bells.
9)Sleigh bells-Ugh, PLEASE NO MORE BELLS!
10)Schnitzel with noodles-YUCK AGAIN. Maria’s got the worst taste. I’d rather eat a fried up whisker from a cat. :)
11)Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings-I’m never out at night to see these geese, but I wish I were!!!
12)Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes-Kids? Who needs them! Not me. And kids in white dresses? EVEN WORSE! Just try keeping those clean.
13)Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-And look like a fucking idiot? No thank you! I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re a real idiot.
14)Silver white winters that melt into springs-What part of snow is terrible, don’t you understand? Just give me a mild Winter, with lots of wild geese flying around. Thank you!

Sometimes when I drink water I get too proud of myself. I have to remind myself that staying hydrated really isn’t that difficult or big of a deal. It’s something that is just expected of me. But then I think, hey don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing great. You may not have a “real” job but you’re drinking water and being you and that’s all that matters.

When I see someone with a rattail. I don’t think of it as ugly. I think of it as their true soul peeking out of their body. A person with a rattail isn’t asking for acceptance, with their no-holds-barred approach to hair growth, they’re demanding it. 

The Best Face To Make Depending On The Fart You’re Making

Smile

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A cute fart. Reserved for one that is roughly a second long and is in an alto range. A smile will add even more cuteness to this already adorable fart.

Scared

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This face is for the bigger, louder, and more grotesque farts. You want the reaction to be fear and then laughter. And, believe me, this will get big laughs.

Surprised

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Perfect for the honk fart. This fart is a surprise for everyone, even you. Coupled with your adorable surprised expression, will invoke nostalgic memories of children’s birthday parties with party horns. People will love you for this.

Hold The Phone

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A silent or extremely quiet fart that runs the risk of smelling terrible. You want to conceal this fart, so pretend you’re on the phone. You’re busy. Your hands are full and your mind is occupied. You’re a professional. There is NO way you could be farting! 

Concerned/Worried

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Reserved for the slow, long fart that you want no part of. It sounds bad and you are ashamed. You want others to know that you are a kind person and you’re concerned for their well being. You had no control of this bodily function, but you are deeply sorry. With a face like that, they’ll understand. 

Sometimes when I’m in a yoga class I purposely do poses wrong so that the yoga teacher will have to physically fix it. And it’s only when I’m in a legs bent terrible excuse for a downward dog and saying, “Please touch me” in my head, do I realize how sad it is.