So, I paint my nails pretty regularly these days. I also work as a barista/cashier pretty regularly these days. A few weeks back, I had a customer come in, a fairly typical, sheltered, suburban soccer mom, and she ordered a latte from me. She saw my brightly colored nails and said, “Wow, you’re so brave! My son asked me about painting his nails, and if it’s okay for boys to do that. Now I’ll tell him there’s a cool guy who does it too!” It was a nice moment, very cute.
Then, last week, she came in again, and said, “Hey, I’m so glad you’re here! I want you to meet someone!” She then brings her son forward, and says, “Okay sweetie, show him what you did!” And he throws his hands up, showing off his bright, sparkling blue nails. He shows them off, and I show mine off to him. He smiles. We fist bump.
Guys, I’ve only wanted to cry once at work before, and that was when someone ordered a large dry soy cappuccino on ice.
This time, though. This was a good cry.
Hey I made a new shirt design because Halloween is coming and everyone loves werewolves, right? You can buy it here: http://www.designbyhumans.com/shop/t-shirt/men/werewolf-ether/79708/
Feels like half my shirts are Missmonster shirts, and that is how I like it.
does the A in USA stand for ally
So, I’m sure all you bright young things have already worked this out, but a friend of mine just pointed out to me that if we’re really angry with Doctor Who for its misogyny, uncritical presentation of the Doctor as a colossal patriarch, creepy abusive…
I’m terrible with numbers. My girlfriend watched me get a phone number wrong three times in a row because the numbers just flip around. Not dyslexic, but my mom was, and I don’t see how this is any different, though I don’t pretend to understand why it would happen with numbers and not letters.
I’m also just terrible at remembering how math WORKS. I could learn stuff, but I’d forget it if I was away from school for more than a couple of days, which I did because I was really sick through a lot of high school.
The awful thing is that I think math is beautiful. I enjoyed the magical way a number would appear when solving for x, when I could get it to work. I can see the beauty, the precision, in math, I respect it, I admire the reliability of it, and its ability to describe both order and chaos. The fact that it has limits, but it also helped us as a species rise above our own limits. I could see how math is a beautiful lens for understanding the universe, how it is a vital tool in technological advancement, for creating change, all this other stupid, inspirational shit that makes me wanna gag to write out.
My point is that I loved math — not the class, but the math itself. I loved it when I could make it work, when it all lined up and everything came out right. I just couldn’t do it reliably beyond short division. No matter how I tried. And I TRIED. My dad was an accountant, FFS, and brilliant, and available to teach me. I couldn’t keep it in my head. I would think I’d done everything right, and I’d get answers so wrong I later couldn’t replicate them (possibly because of the number-flipping).
I could read at three. I have a facility with words that has worked small miracles, and occasional large ones. I’m fucking gifted and brilliant. I am a constant fucking delight. And I’m sick of people trying to act like folks who suck at math must be stupid or lazy, when all the people I’ve known who sucked at math were people who were also fucking amazing, brilliant people.
My dash did the thing, and it was good