The Sandy Vagina

is it crabby in here?


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The Joys of Traveling with a Dog

Dog vomits in the hotel room immediately after arriving? Check.

Dog barks at every noise all night while we desperately try to shut him up and avoid getting kicked out? Check.

Dog barks at little girl in the lobby as he is being taken outside for his morning pee? Check.

Dog barks and lunges at stranger smoking outside the door? Check.

I get the feeling this asshole will be spending our vacations in a pet hotel from now on. Fucker.

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Loving My Body

Last year I gained about 20 pounds in the span of a month after I stopped taking the Pill. With it came horrible face and back acne that is only recently beginning to clear up. The weight shows no signs of packing up; I suspect it is here to stay. I think – hope – that I have finally arrived at a place where I can accept my body, even though I may not be thrilled with it.

The past year has been a pretty rough journey for me as I struggled with self-image. Early last year, I wore a size 6. I now wear a size 12. My skin used to be blemish-free with virtually no effort, and now I care for it daily but still see zits everywhere. I felt ugly and awful for many months, suffering mostly alone and refusing to admit my shame and embarrassment even to my husband. Maybe especially to my husband. In retrospect, that sounds so silly to me. He has always expressed intense love and support for me, yet I was afraid to admit out loud to him that I despaired over my greasy, acne-ridden, heavier body. As if he didn’t see me naked every day, didn’t watch me pop zits in the bathroom mirror, didn’t see me use a rubber band to close my pants when the button would no longer reach the hole.

One morning he ran his hand along my buttocks and murmured with curiosity, “Why do you have stretch marks on your butt?” Embarrassed, I confessed that I had gained weight and I was sure the stretch marks were a result. My eyes welled up with tears as he pulled me into his arms, embracing me at the waist, and kissed my neck. I remember he said something sweet and I smiled, but I still felt awful. Like a failure, for some reason. I think he knew I was upset but didn’t know what he could do. So he didn’t ask about it. He helped me apply acne medication to my back. He didn’t mention the rubber band on my pants. He held me close and showered me with kisses. He complimented my body, even when I dismissed his comments as silly. And when I finally managed to admit that I needed to buy new clothes that actually fit, he jumped at the chance to take me shopping. I knew I married a great man, but it’s the times when I really need his support that I realize just how great a man he is. He filled my days with compliments and affirmations of love when I couldn’t do it for myself. Continue reading


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“I’m not a minority, so I don’t care.”

My students really can be idiots sometimes. At my university, one of the graduation requirements is for students to take one class (from a list of about 50) that is meant to expose them to other cultures. I just advised a student for his final semester and he was frustrated with trying to select a course.

“Nothing sounds interesting to me,” he sighed as the thumbed through the list. I offered suggestions, showed him course summaries, and told him what other students have said to me about the courses. He just got more and more frustrated until finally he blurted out, “It’s just like… all of these courses focus on minorities or people from other countries! And I’m, like, not a minority or something, so, like…” he trailed off, looking at me expectantly. When he realized I wasn’t going to meet him halfway, he continued, “So I don’t really care.” My look must have changed because he backpedaled a little, “Well, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just…”

No. Stop right there. That’s exactly what you meant. They aren’t like me, so why should I care? That’s exactly what you were trying to say.

I’m tired today, and really not in the mood to be gentle about this bullshit. “Well, that’s the whole point of a multicultural requirement, right? To learn about cultures other than your own.” I said flatly.

“Oh. Well yeah, I guess. But I don’t do well in classes that don’t interest me. If I’m not interested in these courses I don’t think I’m going to get a good grade.”

Good, I thought, maybe you deserve to take a hit if you can’t be bothered to care about people who aren’t like you.

“Well then, my suggestion would be to pick the one that you find the most interesting out of the list. This is a graduation requirement that you’ll have to have. Maybe once you’re taking the class you’ll find that you’re more interested than you think you are now.”

And I certainly fucking hope he is.


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PSA for My “Concerned” Friends/Family

Alright everyone, family and friends, gather ’round. Let’s get two things straight:

1) My husband and I are happily married. If I hear one more goddamn time through the grapevine that he is beating me I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that I will cease communication with every one of you without remorse. Anyone who perpetuates this rumor is a piece of shit. My mother has been spreading this rumor since we moved in together. Maybe my mom is bitter that I chose him over her, or maybe she’s upset that he’s not white (and he’s not Chinese, you racist fuck stick, he’s Filipino), or maybe she simply subsists on drama and strife. This November we will be celebrating our 7th anniversary, so let me tell you that this rumor is getting real fucking old. It’s particularly a load of bullshit since some actual domestic violence has gone on in my mom’s side of the family and no one uttered a single word about that.

And let’s be clear – if anyone really believed that I was in an abusive relationship and failed to say a single word to me about it, all the while telling everyone else who would listen, fuck them. Like, seriously. Fuck them. You don’t give a shit about me, you just want gossip material.

2) Yes, I post a lot of “controversial” subjects on Facebook. I talk about rape, sex education, consent, sexism, violence against women, and other feminist issues. You may have surmised that I am a feminist. Just as my mother is “confused” as to why I remain married to my husband, she is also “confused” as to why I am a feminist. She came across some old photos and suggested that my friend’s father might have molested me as a child and that must be why I’m a feminist. I can only assume that she (and other “concerned” family members) are incapable of empathy; they are simply unable to comprehend how I could give a shit about issues that affect someone else. Apparently the only way I could possibly be a feminist is if some traumatic event somehow led me to become interested in issues that negatively affect women. Golly, it’s almost as if I was a woman myself and had a vested interest in these things even if I haven’t actually experienced them!

frustrated StitchFriends and family, if you think that feminism is about man-hating and bra-burning, I suggest reading Shakesville’s Feminism 101 for detailed information about what feminism actually is and how to not be a shitty person. You might also like the Womansplainer if you can’t be bothered to educate yourself on these things.

This concludes my public service announcement. Please pardon me while I channel my rage into crushing crunchy things in my palms.


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Not a Waste

I’m a little disgruntled tonight. I met with the new departmental graduate advisor because it’s time that I filed a degree plan. I’m only taking one course each semester so my Master’s is going to take closer to 4-5 years instead of two. I have put off filing my degree plan since I began this Spring but I can’t avoid it any longer. Unfortunately, this also means finding a thesis advisor. This may prove difficult seeing as I have no fucking clue who I want to work with, much less what I want my thesis to be about.

The graduate advisor made good points regarding many things, but she said something that rubbed me quite the wrong way. My undergraduate degree is in Biology but I’m working on a Master’s in Sociology. She mentioned that with my background, I really should consider medical sociology as a specialization. I politely agreed that my background would make sense for that, but that I was actually trying to move away from biology in general. By the time I finished my undergraduate degree I was so sick of biology I could puke. I realized in my senior year that I probably should have majored in Sociology, but at that point changing my major would have meant another year, minimum, and I couldn’t afford to do that. I needed to graduate ASAP and was only a couple of classes short for the Biology degree, so… that’s what I did.

What came out of her mouth next has been festering under my skin all night. “Well, you’re just wasting your experience if you don’t do medical sociology, you know? You wouldn’t want to let that go to waste, I think.” Seriously? I had just told her that I was sick of biology and was looking for a change with Sociology. While medical sociology is very interesting and I might do well with it, it’s not calling out to me.

First off, my expertise is not going to waste no matter what specialization I choose – I’ve seen how my biology experience has come in handy with every topic I’ve encountered so far. At the very least it gives me a unique perspective. At its best, it integrates easily with the topic at hand. There isn’t a specialization in which I can think it wouldn’t come in handy.

Second, just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you are wasting your skill by not pursuing it further. My husband could have made a fantastic medical doctor and intended to become one when he entered undergrad. There, he discovered a love for mathematics and physics, so he changed majors. He is also a talented musician but does not play professionally, opting to primarily pursue his interest in physics. Is he wasting his musical talent by not playing professionally? Is he wasting his skill in biochemistry by pursuing physics? Not at all. A person can offer so much to society, but they cannot offer everything. He could not possibly offer all of his skill and talent to the world in an attempt to not waste any of it.

Third, it is absurd to expect a person to put aside their personal desires simply because they have experience/skills or talent. During undergrad a friend asked me if I intended to become a teacher. I said that I had considered it, but I didn’t like the idea of teaching in an institutional setting. He called me selfish for not “sharing my talent” as a teacher, and that I owed the world this talent. Man, fuck that. I don’t owe anyone anything. Do I want to make meaningful contributions to society? Absolutely. But I am not required to sacrifice my happiness or my aspirations simply because I am good at something.

She was insistent that I consider it, so I politely agreed to think about it. I’m really too fucking meek sometimes. I hate confrontation. I wish I had just told her no, I didn’t think that was a good fit for me and left it at that. But I didn’t. And I just wanted to vent about how absurd her statement was that I was wasting my experience. Had she said something like, “You could take advantage of your prior experience by…” I would have been much more open to listening to the idea, but now I’m even more turned off than before. *grumble*

That’s really all I wanted to say tonight. I finally got a keyboard for my Surface so I can actually sit down at length and type. This means more posts should be coming, finally. Thanks for reading, sorry my first post in quite a while turned out to be a big long gripe.


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Soon.

I’ve been lazy. I’ve also been busy. I’ve been so busy that all I want to be is lazy. Every spare moment I have is a glorious opportunity to be lazy, and I have revelled in it.

I have also been afraid. I’ve had so many things to say but I’ve been afraid to spill my words. Afraid that I don’t know enough to speak on the matter. Afraid that I cannot effectively convey my thoughts.

Shit has officially hit the fan in many aspects of my life recently. And I know fuck all about handling it. I am here. I will be posting. I just need to actually sit down and type. Soon. I promise.


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Two More Weeks

This summer has been rough. Attending my summer course for an hour each night (then completing at least another hour’s worth of reading and assignments after that) is really stressful. To make things worse, I haven’t been sleeping well so I’m tired all day at work (which is already extra demanding in the summer). It’s amazing to me that I don’t fall asleep during class. It’s also amazing that I haven’t broken down into a heaving, sobbing mess. I’ve come close.

I’ve been sitting here trying to describe the other ongoing issues that are stressing me out right now, but I can’t even bring myself to do that. When I list it all out it looks way worse and I’m going to get more stressed just thinking about it. So instead I will just say that I am stressed to the point of tears and I’m hoping once my class is over – just two more weeks – things won’t seem so overwhelming. Logically I know that most of my stress isn’t caused by the class, but thinking that things will improve in only two weeks makes me feel like I can at least last through those two weeks.

I definitely won’t be posting anything new until the Fall semester is under way. I have plans for several posts (including a reply to someone’s misinformed and misguided comment) but I simply don’t have the time or mental strength to do it right now. In the meantime, enjoy the calming cat that has been keeping me from melting into a puddle of anxiety.

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