Feeling like dirt because I’m unexpectedly home alone tonight and sometimes it’s just hard to be alone. I’m trying to think of something I can do to be kind to myself and it feels impossible.
Is there a better way to recapture your youth than listening to The Juliana Hatfield Three’s Become What You Are?
ETA: Actually crying about how good this album is rn. Good thing I’m working at home today.mood: Juliana holding out the word traaaaaaaaaaaash in Supermodel
It’s sometimes hard for me to write about football, because I’m not just writing about what happened during a game - that’s usually what I’m writing about the least. When I’m writing about sports, what I’m really writing about is my relationship with my boyfriend, my relationship with my dad, my relationship with the city I grew up in, and (sometimes) my relationship to trauma and violence.
This weekend’s game was so many good and bad things - a long awaited victory against the Steelers (and not just a “squeak by” victory - a resounding one), a beautiful fall day, the first game of the season that I watched without my boyfriend. I do not exactly want to talk about the experience of picking him up and dropping him off, his friend in the backseat saying, “Wow, are you always this nice?” Yes, I am always, always this nice. (I have been wrestling a lot with my niceness, especially since Matt’s friend’s wife told me that she could never stand to be treated the way that I am because I’m “like everyone’s beer bitch.” Who says this to someone in the guise of “being nice”???)
There was sadness in this game: Alex Mack, who had never missed a snap until this past Sunday, breaking his leg, the team rallying around him as he was taken off the field. There were good things, too: so many rushing touchdowns! A beautiful pass to Jordan Cameron, caught effortlessly and run in for (yet another!) touchdown. Even the score, 31-10, was beautiful. I drank a Bloody Mary out of a thermos and ate Jet’s pizza.
My team won in feminist fantasy football this weekend, but as a practicing feminist, this week was a difficult one for me. I hate playing the Steelers - all the sudden everyone is an ally to survivors of sexual assault and I have to listen to some drunk asshole complain to me about how Ben Roethlisberger is a rapist. I already know that, dude. I went to college in the shadow of Big Ben. If you never got a flier slipped under your dorm room door warning you about the presence of Ben Roethlisberger on your college campus, I don’t want to fucking hear about it. I know that you wouldn’t give a fuck about his status as a rapist if he wasn’t the Steelers’ quarterback. If he was the Browns’ QB and he had brought multiple championships to Cleveland, “you know those women just lied for attention” would be the party line. If you want me to consider you as an ally, you need to be doing a lot more than shouting “no means no” at kids from Pittsburgh wearing Roethlisberger jerseys.
Like, I did not have great feelings about the Browns fans who made a headless, limbless female mannequin into a beer bong. If you want to be my ally, not bonging your beer through a mutilated female body would be a pretty good way to start. Idk, maybe this is asking too much?
Today I was downtown for a workshop on the economic empowerment of low income women. The workshop started with four women sharing their stories and when one woman got up to talk, she introduced herself as a high school dropout who earned her GED with the help of a local literacy org, went on to get her associate’s, and is now enrolled at Cleveland State, and then she said, “Go Browns!” and that, to me, is so much fucking better than anything else.browns blogging
Where the hell does anyone even buy an “occasion”/”party” dress???