Tag: feminism

Practical Jokesters

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I have developed a theory over the past month and a half of my debut in the adultish-professional world.

The Illusionistic Theory of Selective Adulthoodism: there is no such thing as a transition from child to grown-up. Rather, with age and experience, one simply becomes more and more capable of discerning when situations demand a stiff, boring bloke. The rest of the time, they are free to continue being the REAL them.

I will now describe my visual observations in a highly scientific and intelligent manner.

At work the other day, after assisting a customer like the diligent little worker bee that I am, I turned around to find that my cell phone had been completely saran-wrapped and placed on the counter behind me, and my adultish-aged coworker leaning against the counter with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Naturally, after freeing my 4S from its plastic captivity, I threw the remains, along with a note that formally declared war, at his noggin.

That same day, another coworker decided to mess with MY computer. Apparently, with the proper strokes of a keyboard, you are able to flip the display on the screen completely upside-down. And apparently, putting tape on the bottom of one’s mouse interferes with its functionality.

This is what I get for being the sole female in a workplace full of non-females.

Naturally, I must seek revenge from these quipsters. This is war. I am the alpha.

I now extend to you, dear reader, an invitation to provide me with pranks of equal value to inflict upon the enemies.

Please leave your suggestions in the comments box below. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

Over and out.

M.

Complacent Vs. Contentment

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As most of you are rightly assuming from my previous blog posts, I am quite the philosophical thinker. It’s a curse, really. All this engagement in deep thought is draining on a poor lass, and instills a lingering, permanent sense of worry in me. 

Lately, i’ve been concerning myself with matters involving complacency. You see, my worst fear in this life (aside from the typical environmental fears such as heights, snakes, and big bugs) is not achieving my ambitious goals and winding up somewhere in a repetitive, life-running, average 9-5 job in Anytown, USA, and growing wildly unhappy and disappointed with my accomplishments (or lack thereof). 

These concerns haunt me on a regular basis, especially once I’ve fallen into a structured routine. Day after day, with nothing seemingly significant occurring, I begin to fear that perhaps my repetitive little agenda is all that’s out there for me. I feel that I am limited in what I will accomplish. I starve for change. 

Justifiably, my problem-solving skills aren’t up to par with seasoned and experienced adults. My solutions typically involve running away to Europe and starting a new life with a new hair cut and convincing accent, or simply just not showing up to things anymore. 

Even though I’m barely 19 years old, I feel like if I’m not accomplishing something huge that will have significant impact on my life, I am wasting time. My sense of contentment is endangered. 

Is it possible to feel content without becoming complacent? To be happy with the way your life is here and now and simultaneously be working for something bigger and better? 

This widespread belief that “things will be better when_____” or “once i’ve accomplished X,Y, and Z, then I will be happy,” is quite the obstacle to tackle when trying to be content with the here and now. 

Anyway, that’s what’s been on my mind as I awoke this lovely Friday morn. 

Cheers to the freakin’ weekend, and down with repetition. 

M. 

Embargo

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Recently, my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, has been making headlines for its decision to excommunicate Mormon activists who are pushing for equality, inclusion, and acceptance for women and gay/lesbian community. 

Heartbroken: The only word in my extensive vocabulary that I can think of to encompass my feelings toward these events. 

Latter-Day saints are representatives of Jesus Christ, and as His representatives in these latter days, we are expected to strive to progressively become more and more like Him. Charity is the pure love of Christ, and an attribute that we are all aspiring to master. 

The God I know loves all of His sons and daughters equally, regardless of how we sin in this life. So shouldn’t we do the same? Who am I to judge another, when I walk imperfectly? 

Clearly, the way His children get along with one another is of great priority to our Father in Heaven. After all, the second commandment is to love thy neighbor as thyself. 

Not just your straight neighbors.

Not just your male neighbors. 

Not just your neighbors of the same faith. 

Granted, we are all human, and will never be able to love everyone perfectly as He does, but the point is, we are supposed to try.

We are not trying nearly hard enough. 

It is so easy to judge one another, and it grows increasingly difficult when the people we are judging are vastly different than we are. 

I want everyone who walks through the doors of my chapel to feel that they are welcome, loved, and accepted from the second they sit down in the pews, regardless if they’re gay, didn’t serve a mission, are female, what have you. I want everyone who attends my church meetings to be able to feel the pure love that Christ has for them, without feelings of guilt, shame, resentment, judgment, etc. from members of the congregation. 

There was a time, in the 1980’s, I believe, when a general authority stated that women are “discouraged from working outside the home.” The Proclamation to the Family states that a woman’s primary role is that of a mother and homemaker. Granted, the times have changed significantly since the ’80’s, but that attitude of the role of women in the church is still predominantly taught as the “right way” to live. 

I am a young woman with huge ambitions and goals that surely don’t involve my getting wifed-up and making babies any time soon. I have prioritized my life in a way that varies from the mold that seems to have been laid out for me by the culture of my church. Yet, as a woman of the LDS faith, I am taught repeatedly from my youth that there is no better or more fulfilling way for me to spend my life than becoming a wife and mother. We spend our Young Women’s activity nights learning how to bake and crochet and all of those domestic tasks that will aid us in our homemaking futures, while the boys go on scout trips in the middle of the winter and river rafting in the summer.

Ask me again in a decade from now, but as it stands, I don’t believe that I will be happiest being a stay-at-home mommy for the next 20 years of my life. Contrary to my gender’s mold, I am most empowered by gaining an education and sense of independence and strength through finding a meaningful and successful career. 

It’s frustrating to hear all this talk of how women are the stronger gender because we can give birth and have a nurturing intuition and all that jazz, but are then expected to devote our lives to pursuing that route of mother and homemaker, regardless of our differing interests. 

People within my local church community have been expressing concern with my lack of desire to have children at all. May I remind you, I am only 19 years of age. I have my entire life in front of me, and an abundance of child-bearing years left. So what’s the rush? I intend to achieve my academic/career goals first. 

My main issue with all of this is that what I want out of my own life is not as important as my predestined role. Men can-and must, according to the church-be the providers for their families. They are free to get a degree and a powerful career and after their 8-5 shift, they can come home and play catch with Junior while Mom slaves away in the kitchen. Best of both worlds. 

But rarely is that the case for a woman. Every situation is different, and a lot of women have to work in order to support their families. I feel that the Church tries to make everything a one-size-fits-all, rather than recognizing that its members are individuals, and that there is no blanket-solution to the right way to set up your family. 

I just want to be treated as an equal member of the human race, and for all of my spiritual brothers and sisters to, as well. 

I find relief in authoring my frustrations. Agree, or don’t-it’s up to you. But also, have respect for my beliefs. 

M. 

Rose Amongst The Thorns

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Y’know how in High school the pretty people always had the easier life? The hot chicks in Human Bio always got a better grade on their group project because Mr. Smith was a single, sixty-something with a thing for blondes? And how the handsome boys just happened to be excessively, athletically inclined and how all the pretty people seemed to gravitate toward each other in an un-penetrable mass of popularity? 

High school never ends. 

You see, in the real world, the pretty people still come out on top. The cruel reality is, beauty is bliss. And your life will be significantly easier if the big guys like what they see when they look your way. 

Exhibit A: My big girl job (see previous post) 

At my new place of employment, I work with a team completely composed of men. I have no problem with this-in fact, I quite like it. When we’re not busy, we talk about dude stuff like food and modern warcraft (is that even what it’s called?) and wrist watches. And we can all make fun of each other without calling each other “bitches” behind our backs. Boys get along nice.

Anyway, our customers get randomly selected and surveyed on the customer service we provide. It’s nearing the end of the quarter, so at our little pep-talk meeting, I was told not to worry about getting bad surveys because I’m “cute and bubbly” and that people will just give me a perfect score because I’m cute. 

Are you seeing the perks yet? 

That’s all fine and dandy, but there are definitely hardships that come with being the chick that invades the wolf pack. 

Some of our customers are full-on sketch. 

My coworker was helping this man with a transaction, and I was standing nearby, shadowing him as part of my training. The customer asked my coworker if he’d been “staying out of trouble,” to which my coworker replied, “i’m trying to!” The customer was an older gent. He looked at me and said, “Well, how can you, when you’ve got a beautiful blonde right next to you?” Instantly, my cheeks flushed the color of ripe tomatoes. Did I mention my coworker is married? Neither of us could vocalize a decent response. 

That same day, I was helping another older man with a transaction. He tipped his hat to me and winked, and before he left, he handed me one of those individually-wrapped lifesaver candies. I know what you’re thinking, “what a sweet, old man!” But if you were a bird on my shoulder, getting a whiff of his stale-cigarette scent and noting his messy and unkempt appearance, you would understand. 

I’ve even been formally warned by my coworkers not to help certain customers because they’re “too creepy” and will “hit on me.” 

For the most part, customers are pleasantly surprised with the my being the new addition to the team. They call me the “rose amongst the thorns.” And who am I to argue? A rose I shall be. 

Sigh. The patriarchy at work. 

 

 

Buzzz

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Hey kids! Please excuse my lack-of-posting. One day, I was a ridiculously under-occupied little lady who had her entire summer wide open with no official engagements and ample time for shenanigins. The world was my oyster. And the next, BAM! Adult life decided to hit me like a ton of bricks. And now I’m all sorts of busy. The kind of busy that required me to stop at Walgreens on the way home from work and purchase myself a planner to keep track of all my appointments and all that jazz. 

I know what you’re all thinking: “Maddie, what could possibly be robbing you of your precious free time?!” Well i’ll tell you. A big-girl job. That’s right. The kind where you have to wear slacks or a skirt, and jeans are strictly prohibited. I am now Maddisen Tingey: blogger, student, competitive eater, feminist, and grown-up employee. 

As part of initiation into professional grown-upism, I have been enrolled into an intensive, virtual class in order to develop my professional people skills and such. It’s an 8-5 kind of gig, which I’m not used to at all. And I have a rather hard time sitting still for prolonged periods of time in an stuffy office that reaches somewhere between 2 and 7 zillion degrees in the afternoon. 

Sounds pretty brutal, eh? 

Eh. 

But I am an optimist. And as an optimist, I have discovered several gratifying features of my new workplace. For starters, my chair spins. And the spinning motion is superbly effective in keeping me alert during the late after-lunch hours when my eyelids are ready to give out and the clock gradually ticks slower and the conclusion of my shift seems to drift further and further away. 

Also, the window of my office faces a self-serve car wash, and I find pleasure in watching its patrons accidentally drench themselves with the hoses when my focus refuses to remain on my computer monitor. The building in which I work has a popcorn machine, so there is always a fresh aroma of movie-theater butter deliciousness in the air. 

And also, I get an hour break for lunch, and there’s a Starbucks a block up the street. 

See, it’s not so bad after all.

I’ve only been at this new job for two weeks, but i’ve already learned many vital, and occasionally painful, lessons about the real world. 

Lesson #1: Nobody cares if it’s your birthday. 

That’s right. This past Tuesday, I turned 19. The big 1-9. I can legally buy cigarettes now. (I won’t, because lung cancer and premature wrinkles wouldn’t look good on me, but I could if I wanted to and that’s what matters.) But in adult-world, your birthday is just Tuesday. And daily requirements persist as if it were nobody’s anniversary of birth at all, and there is no cause for celebration. The cool coworkers wish you a happy birthday, but despite their wishes, your birthday doesn’t get particularly happy until after you’ve commuted back home to the people who appreciate you for existing for the past 19 years and demonstrate said appreciation by showering you in generous gifts, sushi dinners, and cold stone. Image 

That’s me and the sis on the glorious anniversary of my being on planet Earth. 

I have one year left to be able to rationally call myself a teenager. I’m practically ancient. 

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to lately. 

And now i’m off to go be a 19-year-old for 51 more weeks. Here’s to immaturity and recklessness! 

M. 

Compelled

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I was browsing through my Facebook Newsfeed this morning when I came across an article entitled Modest Is Hottest? The Revealing Truth. (To my delightful suprise, it was a male cyber-friend of mine who shared this article.) I highly suggest you read it, especially if you are affiliated with a religious organization that promotes the slogan “Modest is Hottest.” 

I am a Latter Day Saint. My church pushes a lot of emphaisis on the cruciality of its female members dressing conservitavely. Their rationale? Because men are incapable of controlling their own thoughts, placing the responsibility of keeping their minds virtuous on the women. As young women, we are often told that we are the stronger sex, and that our influence on men is stronger than we may think. 

However, if men are superior (and there are copious documented cases that clearly illustrate that men ARE indeed the superior gender), they should be more than completely capable of controlling their own thoughts. I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe that it’s my fault that a guy has an “inappropriate thought” simply because I chose to show a little shoulder. 

This is just another circumstance to be added to the book of ways women are objectified. Shaming women into dressing a certain way just reinforces the fact that our bodies are there to be looked at. Our apperence must be altered to gain the approval of those around us-namely the MEN around us. 

The other day, I went on a date with a young man of my faith. The day after our date, he asked me if i’d like to join him and his friends to go hot tubbing. I nodded, and told him that I thought it’d be fun. After agreeing to his notion, he asked me if I wore one- or two-piecers. Rather hesitently, and slightly awkwardly, I informed him that I owned swimsuits of both descriptions. 

He responded by informing me that he does not tolerate two-piece swimsuits. 

In other words, I was not allowed to wear a bikini in the presence of this man because he did not approve of them. After one date, this guy felt that he was entitled with the authority to tell me what aqua-attire was acceptable to wear around him. The converstation continued with him telling me that he needed to improve his “summer body” if he were planning on not wearing a shirt around me.

Clearly, the modesty rule does not apply to the male population. Nobody thinks that maybe his shirtlessness could plague me with inappropriate thoughts, thus causing me to lose control of my actions. Because men are people, and women are bodies. 

Needless to say, we did not go hot tubbing together that evening. 

The article goes on to say that the degree of which women cover themselves up has no impact on a male’s ability to control himself. This claim is backed up by the fact that in cultures where women are required to cover themselves from head to toe, there is still a great deal of sexual violence inflicted upon them. 

I am not against dressing modesty. In fact, I prefer to dress in a modest fashion because it slightly reduces my degree of self-consciousness, not having to constantly check that everything is “tucked in.” I find that dressing conservatively is classy-for both genders. And I am a woman with a great deal of class. 

How an individual chooses to present his/herself is a personal choice, and I believe that everyone should dress in a way that enables them to express their personalities and give them the most confidence. If you’re a size 16, but feel beautiful in a bikini or cutoff, WEAR IT. IF you’re a size 00 but prefer a one-piece and boardshorts, WEAR IT. Your body is NOT just an item to be looked at and approved or disapproved by your peers. Your body is yours. Cover it as much or as little as makes YOU comfortable. I promise, the rest of us have ample control of the brains in our heads, regardless of your choice of dress. 

M.

 

 

Isonomy

MissM8 Comments

Women are people. 

Women are not objects, property, toys, second-class citizens, baby vessels, commodities, sandwich-makers, or psychologically/physically incapable of “masculine” tasks. 

Women are people. 

Men are people. 

Men are not financial plans, sugar daddies, jar-openers, or objects. 

Men are people. 

Homosexuals are people.

Blacks are people. 

Hispanics are people. 

(Insert any minority/group of people that differ from groups of people you belong to) 

THEY ARE PEOPLE, TOO. 

I am willing to bet that a majority of you stable-minded people would be willing to come to a consensus that all of the the above statements are fact, and if you’re not, feel free to discontinue reading. 

Tell me this then: Why do sexism, racism, ethnic stereotyping, or homophobia exist? 

Those of you who are still reading have previously agreed with my argument that all variations of people are indeed people. More than that, they are equal people. 

Because all people are equal, all people are equally capable of making their own life-decisions, regardless of cultural norms or gender stereotypes. 

I am going to focus the majority of this post on the issue of sexism. 

Now, I understand that each sex is maybe better-equipped to fulfil certain roles in our world. By this, I mean that men are GENERALLY (not absolutely) physically more muscular, thus being able to develop a greater amount of physical strength at a more rapid pace than women. On the other hand, women are given the ability to bear children, thus making them GENERALLY more capable of nurturing their offspring. 

Both of these instances are due to each sex’s physical makeup, and I realize that there is nothing I could possibly do to change that. 

Because both instances are GENERALLY the case (not ABSOLUTELY the case), there is always deviation from the “norm.” Just because one sex may TEND to be better at fulfilling specific role, it is crucial to remember that every individual’s circumstances are unique. 

Each person ever born was born with this thing called “agency.” Agency means that we are willing to choose how we want to live our lives, regardless of our biological sex, skin color, religious beliefs, socioeconomic class, etc. 

Because all people are equal, it would only make sense that they should all be able to decide what to do with their lives, and other people should shut their fat pie-holes about it, even if they disagree with another’s choices. 

In my Utahn culture, it is virtually expected that a young woman marry as soon as she can so that she can pop out a half-dozen children and then spend the next 20 years raising said offspring. 

I have no problem with girls deciding to take this course in life. If being a housewife will be fulfilling to them, I say go for it! Even though I have prioritized my life a little differently, I respect their decisions to work within the home. 

Because I respect other peoples’ life choices, even if they are the complete obverse of my own, I expect the same from them. I have no desire to be a housewife. My aspiration is to establish myself in a successful and personally empowering career. Just because my decision deviates from the cultural norm, this does not make me any worse, less, or more selfish than those who choose to stick with what society expects of them. 

I believe that whatever will make a person happiest and help them to live the most fulfilling life possible, is the correct choice for the individual. May that be to join the marines, become a school teacher, or a stay-at-home mom. (Which, may I remind you, is a full-time job of its own. Don’t ever say you’re JUST a stay-at-home mom.) 

All I want out of this is to be presented with ALL the same opportunities as my male peers, and to be able to choose whatever is most suitable for me without being judged or questioned for pursuing said opportunities. Think about it. Nobody ever questions a GUY for earning a PhD. But when I say that getting a doctorate degree is my goal, people always ask me when I’m going to fit in marriage and a family. And the answer is, when I am good and ready, and inevitably fixed on achieving my educational and career goals. 

I am a feminist, because I am just as human as my male peers. And it’s about time that I begin to be treated as such. 

If you’re with me on this, congratulations! You’re a feminist, too, and you can sit by me. 

M. 

 

Talking In Movie Theaters And Other Common Indecencies

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I am really, really trying to force myself to enjoy being around other people in public settings. I’m the type of girl who will go anywhere and do anything by herself. Shopping, hiking, bowling, walks, going to Cold Stone or any other eatery, you name it! And, of course, movie watching. (Although, I can’t help but feel bad when I see other people doing these things alone.) People make it really hard for me to enjoy their company when they engage in an abundance of behavioral indecencies. 

Take yesterday, for example. I finally went with a buddy of mine to see a late showing of Spider Man 2 (Bravo to Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone, by the way. Flawless.) It was an exceptionally slow night at the movie theater, even for a Monday. There were no more than 7 people seated in the entire auditorium.

Seated a row in front of us and slightly to our right hand side, were two fellow film spectators, all loaded up with extra large drinks and a bucket full of buttery, probably diabetes-inducing, popcorn. My greatest pet peeve in the world is being able to hear other people eat popcorn. It is the most repugnant of sounds a human is capable of making. And I would not hesitate to shank a sucker who chomped that stuff in my ear.

So, as a public safety to the moviegoers around me, I always isolate myself in the very last row of seats, and out of earshot of concession consumers.

The seven of us were all comfortably seated and deeply immersed into the plot. Well, I take that back. 5 out of 7 of us were deeply immersed in the plot. The other two were the hoggish, popcorn-chomping chums sitting diagonally from me. I kid you not, every 12 seconds, one of them would turn to the other and LEGITIMATELY YELL OVER THE FILM’S AUDIO.

The first time they decided to rudely intervene with my movie experience, I turned my head and gave them the glare of death. Unfortunately, in a dim theater, people can’t see your glare of death signifying them to cease their reprehensable behavior. The second time, I was on the brink of snapping. I did NOT pay 9 dollars of my hard-earned cash to have my viewing of Spider Man 2 ravaged by two inconsiderate jerk faces. 

They continued their chatter throughout the movie, and it took every ounce of willpower in my little body to not march over there and give them a piece of my mind. I resisted. Why? Because I WOULDN’T WANT TO DISTRACT FROM ANYONE ELSE’S ENJOYMENT OF THE MOVIE. Because I am a considerate, well-behaved lady. 

Another thing that I cannot, and will not tolerate, is the chewing of one’s lollipops. The other day, I was in the waiting room at the doctor’s office with my mommy because no almost-19-year-old should be expected to endure a meeting with her physician on her own. 

There was a man and his son seated behind us. The son stood up, went to the front desk, and grabbed a handful of dumdums to share with his father. They both unwrapped their suckers and simultaneously began to chomp their lollipops right off the stick. The sonacy of their crunching of hard candy resonated throughout the entire doctor’s office. I was gripping the sides of my chair until my knuckles turned white. It took all I had in me to not freak out in anger and annoyance. 

As a re-cap, just don’t eat loud foods in front of other people. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I think that my tolernace of other peoples’ presence would significantly improve if they would just be more considerate of the sounds they make when they consume things. Loud chewers stir a sense of hatred and rage in me. 

Actually, beyond that, let’s all just be considerate and sensitive to how our behavior might affect those around us. That way I will be less inclined to punch total strangers in the larynx. If we all did this, the world would be a happier, and much less violent place. 

Vote Maddie for president. 

M. 

PESTistance

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Pestistance (noun): unfaltering continuance in persuing romantic attention from a member of the opposite gender, regardless of volume/frequency of rejection or negligence, thus becoming a nuisance to the rejector. 

See also: stalker, psycho, pest.

I will get one of my newly-coined terms in the dictionary one day. Mark my words. 

Now I’m sure you’re all DYING to hear what motivated the invention of my latest vocabulary word. And I’m dying to tell you. 

Because I am no exception to the psychological damage that social media has inflicted on its youthful participants, I admit to accepting users on Facebook that I don’t necessarily know from real-life. I’m willing to bet that a solid 3% of my Facebook friends are from Pakistan or Uganda. I have no ties to Pakistan or Uganda whatsoever. But what the heck, if somebody requests my friendship on a social network, who am I to deny them access to my exceptionally humerous status updates? 

However, the very first ever PESTistant person was not from Pakistan. Or even Uganda. No, he was from none other than my home state. Let me tell you, accepting his friend request is one of my biggest regrets to date. 

Here’s why: 

From the moment I hit the “Confirm” button on his friend request, this lad has been requesting to meet me in person. From what I could see from his profile page, he seemed like a very nice, sweet, clean-cut LDS boy. And I’m certain he is. He’s just an excessively-persistant, borderline-obsessive, sweet, clean-cut LDS boy. 

This cyber-chap has been consistently requesting that we “meet up” for weeks. Yes, multiple weeks. Most of his messages never even received a response from me. And yet, they continued. 

I hate how Facebook has enabled us to view when the recipient has read your message. Because when he sees that I read his message, he writes yet another one, claiming that he’s “done nothing wrong!” and demands to know why i’m “afraid to meet him.” 

What on earth would lead him to believe that I am “afraid” to make his acquaintance? Did he ever consider the fact that maybe I’m just not interested? You would think that after nearly a month of pure rejection, you’d just let it go already and move on to the next random chick you find online. 

It’s nothing personal against him, I’m just. not. interested. 

There should be no more questions asked, and he should really go find another host for his pest-like behavior. 

I have even clearly and directly explained to him that I have no interest in meeting him, and yet the messages have continued. But I am a very easily-annoyed pre-adult, and I have had quite enough. 

I hate to do this, but cyber matey, you may now considered yourself both deleted and blocked. 

Have yourself a nice day. 

M. 

 

Reasons Why I want To Be Tina Fey

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Image

Recently, I stumbled upon Bossypants, a gem of a book written by the delightfully comical Tina Fey. It was one of those books that you read cover-to-cover in one night, regardless of the fact that you have two finals to take in the morning and haven’t done a lick of studying. If you haven’t read it yet, you really need to figure out what time-waster needs to be eliminated from your life and get reading. 

It’s quite possibly the best piece of feminist literature since The Declaration of Sentiments.  

Now, without further ado, here are the reasons why I want to be Tina Fey. 

1. Her flawless Sense of Humor: A trait we both have in common. Seriously, though, I’m pretty sure the general public can come to a consensus that Tina Fey is a master of comedy. From playing Sarah Palin on SNL to Kate from Baby Mama, she  can get a sincere laugh out of just about anybody. Not only in a professional, scripted setting, but in her everyday life as well. Her entire book is her narration of real events from both her normal and professional life. 

2. She Acknowledges Her Shortcomings: Throughout her book, Tina Fey distinctly illustrates her flaws. She is fully conscious of her limitations. Fey narrates significant events from her life starting from childhood, and throughout the pages, she anecdotes times that she admittedly screwed up. 

3. She Embraces Her Flaws: Fey mentions multiple times how weird her feet are. Personally, i’ve never seen them, but apparently she was given some deformed feet. But you know what? Not once does she wish she had normal feet. She even says she wouldn’t trade hers for the most beautiful feet there ever were. She talks about her “gut” and how she’s a pasty-dough ball. What she doesn’t do is wish for a perfect, model body. She knows that she is human. 

4. She’s Part-German: This implies that she’s also part-fiery and harsh. If you read back to my bio, you’ll find that I, too, am part-German. Deutschland ist das beste! 

5. She Can Laugh At Herself: One chapter is entirely dedicated to her responding to her own hatemail. Rather than retaliate by getting offensive and defensive, Fey goes along with her anti-fans’ insulting words and even (sarcastically) admits to their claims. And THAT is how class and wit is done. 

6. She Has A Daughter And Her Dream Job: At one point in her book, she talks about how there was a time when she was trying to get Oprah onto her show 30 Rock, plan a Peter Pan birthday party for her daughter, and write for SNL all at the same time. All three events were equally important to her, and she even finished planning details of her daughter’s party in between shoots at 30 Rock and SNL. 

7. She Has Fantastic Legs: Need I say more? 

8. She Knows How To Identify Sexism In The Workplace: Rather than play the victim, Fey brings to her readers’ attention the gender stereotypes in the world of comedic actors and writers. She knows that there are ignorant people out there who claim that women can’t be funny the way men can, and should stick to playing the role of the ditzy cheerleader or supportive housewife. But she doesn’t let that stop her from continuing her work the way she wants to do it. She doesn’t care if you like it. 

In short, Tina Fey is my idol. 

Now go forth and read Bossypants, my dear readers. 

M.