Banal Hemorrhage

I don’t believe my mom set to destroy the patriarchy, I think the patriarchy was just an inconvenient hurdle on the way to her goals. But destroy the patriarchy she did. Over and over again. One of the first women petroleum engineers, the first to work on oil rigs, one of the first to not change her last name, the first to many, many things. I imagine the amount of paperwork that had to be changed because of her mere existence and it always makes me flash a wicked smile. The most amazing thing about her is how humble she is about all of this. Throngs of women have looked up to her for generations and all she’ll ever admit to is being a hard worker. There’s more to her, though. She’s always a steady snowball that simply knows how to move forward. I wish that certitude of hers had splashed down to me through her DNA strands. Alas, the only thing I’m certain of is that she has always and will always be my hero. My she-ro. Most people that meet her, remember her. And not just bec

Nobody tells you about the skeletons. In a first date, how often did you divulge your deepest secrets? Not often, I’m going to wager. You didn’t tell them about your childhood crush on Gadget from Chip And Dale Rescue Rangers;  and you definitely didn’t mention your psychological issues in crushing detail. Those come later. Finding someone who you can eventually open up to is great. Having someone who can dance with your defects is divine. I’m a lucky bastard, as I’ve mentioned before. More and more, the weirdos are those who never fall down. The ones who make a career or get their jollies by showing you a constant image of perfection. Those are the ones that I don’t get. They’d be more believable and more approachable if they’d at the very least tell you their fart story. We have all let a fart go in the most awkward moment. It’s just that some of us are broken enough to write a blog post about it. My runaway gas was in my office just before a performance review in m

I never said I was a mature person. Sometime in the middle of this anxiety around a new job and new responsibilities, this moment came and brought me more joy than you can imagine. Yes, dear readers, the name of my city has a phallic acronym. The good old City of Kalamazoo is the COK. I know, my fortune knows no bounds. I absolutely have not stopped thinking about this since it happened. Here are a few of my favorite usages: "The COK shrinks in size during the winter months." "The COK has grown in the past few years." "The COK was erected in 1829, thanks to Titus Bronson." "The COK is full of pharmaceuticals." "The COK is no stranger to humidity." "When you think of the COK, think of beer." Please feel free to indulge me with your ideas in the comments! I even made a shirt to commemorate this righteous moment in our history. Extra Panel: It looks like this

Anxiety comes at me in waves. Sometimes I am perfectly satisfied with this hard wrought life I’ve made for myself, complete with a wife, home and community. The next second I am obsessing about having to meet people and how am I going to find and wear the proper pants for said meeting (and I only have like two pairs of pants).  One time, I had so much anxiety about my choices in the board game Pandemic Legacy that I ruined that game forever. I still think about all those diseased millions we left uncured in Shanghai. There’s objective reasons for my current bout with anxiety. I have a new job, a new commute, a new culture to shape and change. Anxiety is attacking me routinely. The self talk is obsessive and the feeling in my chest is pervasive. Some days are better than others, but last week it was off the charts. I daydream of an incompetent personified anxiety. The best I've been feeling lately is when I volunteer after work. I feel like I’ve contributed, I f

Trigger Warning for Some: Contains references to hugging.  I am an introvert, and I am a hugger. I don’t know why these things coexist in me, but they are not the only cacophonic elements of my psyche. Is it from my cultural upbringing in Venezuela? Is it in my genes? I don’t know, but  I love hugging the few people I can call friends in these strange times. I don’t hug everyone. I gauge the situation very carefully, often saying things like : “are you a hugger?” or watching for open armedness. Sometimes I am wrong (mostly with people bearing the XY chromosome). I can tell when I screw up, it feels like hugging a dead tree. Many times I never see the huggee ever again. I imagine that they decided to avoid me for the rest of their lives, lest they be held in in my (very arguably) comforting arms ever again. Sometimes, I turn non-huggers into huggers. Sometimes. Extra Panel: Leaving a wake of petrified people behind.