Category Archives: beer

[etsy] heat wave etsy sale! (and staying safe in the heat)

As yet another heat wave takes over parts of the US, I’m having a “stay indoors” sale for my Etsy shop. The July heat index in my city hovers somewhere between 95 and 110 Fahrenheit. (Hooray for humidity!)

cnn-weather-heat-exhaustion-heat-stroke-heat-wave

With a minimum $10 purchase you can use the code “heatwave” and get 20% off your entire order.  You can check out ready-to-give crafts as well as supplies to create your own  crafts here: CFF etsy shop

bud light lime coasters

PBR ace of spades earrings

rogue notebook

blue moon coasters

heat can be dangerous!

Don’t forget, heat can be dangerous! (The seasons where I live include: a few weeks of fall, a few weeks of winter, a humid warm spring, early summer, high summer, and late summer; all of which are disgustingly humid.)

Drink lots of water all day long (especially since favorites like coffee, beer, and liquor dehydrate you, and yummy sodas are not actually hydrating at all). In the summer time I even do the “one beer one water one beer one water” trick to make sure I’m not sick later.

The hottest and sunniest part of the day is 10am-3pm, so this is when you want to make sure you’re indoors (and crafting)! Obviously this also goes for your animals, unless you’ve got an awesome shady hangout for them. This is also the time to avoid taking the munchkins to the park– it’s a higher risk of heat exhaustion as well as super-hot playground equipment. And since you don’t want to be outside during these hours, don’t take the dogs for a walk then either.

Be a good neighbor! It’s always good to know your neighbors, and this is a perfect time to meet more of them. Often older people (like my almost-90 grandma) don’t want to ask for assistance, but they’re the people we hear about in the news dying of heat stroke. Split a melon with them, offer to pick up groceries or a fan while you’re out, and make sure you check on them if the power goes out. Don’t forget that foods like cucumbers and watermelons are over 90% water– delicious and hydrating.

From: http://www.thesilverpen.com/beating-cancer-with-nutrition/hydrating-foods/
From: http://www.thesilverpen.com/beating-cancer-with-nutrition/hydrating-foods/

The sale is only until the end of July, so don’t wait! (Minimum purchase of $10, get a 20% discount on your entire order with coupon check out code “heatwave.”) Stay cool, stay hydrated, be a good neighbor, and enjoy some extra indoor crafting time!

More on the dangers of extreme heat.

https://www.etsy.com/shop/CrankyFatFeminist
https://www.etsy.com/shop/CrankyFatFeminist

[cranky] periods and porta potties, and bullshit at work, oh, and cleavage

A month ago, four hours from home, I arrive at this new work site, 6:45am, bleary-eyed and desperately clutching my nearly empty coffee cup. Turns out we were called in early just for the sake of being early and sorting paperwork, which really only took 20 minutes. By 7:45 my bladder is full of coffee and I have to ask where the restrooms are… only to find out that we had access to porta potties. Perhaps if I walked half a mile up the road to this fancy arena people would be there and let me in to use a real restroom. But that was perhaps. After tucking a just in case tampon into the shorts I’m wearing (which are really my new boyfriend’s extra pair of work shorts) I hand my helmet to one of my female coworkers and head to the row of porta potties. My hands have already touched the gross “community box” of hard hats, borrowed someone’s pen to sign paperwork, and had just touched the door of the porta potty. While trying to keep the bottoms of my shorts from touching the pool of water around my boots, I discover that I have indeed started my period. And I have no where to wash my hands before I use the tampon. Surely comical if anyone had been watching, I managed to keep the shorts out of the puddle and put in the tampon. About to walk out I remember, I still have no where to wash my hands. I clean my hands to the best of my ability with the one-ply, but have no choice but to walk out, grab my hard hat, and get ready to work.
dont dumb yourself down

It’s a male-dominated field and we’re in the south. Essentially, if you aren’t a badass feminist with a point to prove you won’t last more than a few months. As a general trend around here, the women have a larger skill set and a better work ethic. The men can get by as long as they’re very muscular or tall, or if they’re funny and love to kiss boss-ass. A large number of the guys will flat out tell you that they would rather have only guys working with them. More and more are getting smart enough to keep their mouths shut and just look down on you. As long as they don’t grope and don’t name call, they can’t be called out for being sexist, so they can’t get in any trouble.

If the work community doesn’t want women around, all they have to do is keep providing porta potties– no one wants to feel dehumanized, which is exactly how I felt using dirty hands to put in a tampon while making sure my shorts didn’t get wet. Maybe if cargo shorts were made for women and not nearly-exclusively for men I wouldn’t have had to worry about the bottom two inches of fabric getting pee on them. Maybe if there was just a jug of water nearby for hand washing I would have felt much cleaner.

Besides the panties and bra, my clothes were asexual. No, actually, that’s not true. Asexual would be fine. I was wearing men’s shorts, and men’s steel toed boots (what? women wear steel toes? never. hope they made a small enough men’s pair for you). I was wearing a t-shirt that I got after a show, which meant that others there had the same shirt too. And because of my big boobs, I can’t get away with a tank top or a cut-neck t-shirt to provide the twin heaters with some ventilation. The fastest way to be sent home is to have any sort of cleavage. (The fastest way to be sent home SHOULD be not wearing steel toes, or not wearing your hard hat.)

cleavage-12

Indecent and distracting, boobs are definitely evil and always dangerous for men. Before and after every show the lights are on. During the show, the lights are off. When the lights are off the men can stare at anything and anyone without being caught– they can watch dancers change backstage, they can watch singers strip down and redress with so few seconds that modesty has no time. We are all human, and the understanding is that no one is watching because no one cares, because we are all people, with variations on the same parts. But the problem is that some of these guys are watching. And their bosses know, and don’t care. Some of these guys are watching the private dance studio 14 year olds change clothes, they’re staring at the bouncing boobs of a 19 year old college dance major. But it’s dark, and no one can see where they stare. Until the lights come on, and then suddenly they’re in deep shit for staring at the tiny bit of a coworker’s cleavage. So in an effort to save the good old boys from any embarrassment, cleavage goes home immediately so that guys don’t have to be reprimanded.

 

[fat] WW, take 2

I restarted Weight Watchers a week ago. The end of last semester of school was absolutely overwhelming, and I enjoyed too much good beer and ice cream. I weighed in at 223 pounds, and somehow lost 4 pounds last week, to 219.
I can’t wait to get down to 199, then I’m allowed to open up a big bag of clothes from Ghana, along with my shorts. (muffin top, anyone? haha)

YENKO NKOAA, by Eduwoji

 

This is my absolute favorite song from studying abroad in Ghana. I spent the month of April 2011 doing dance research in a small village near where this was filmed, Klikor-Agbozume. (You have to drive through Sogakope where this was filmed to get to Agbozume.) I spent the evenings of my research time drinking Star, a local beer, and dancing in the village “spot” (bar) whenever we had electricity for music. Yenko Nkoaa was on every night that we had electricity, usually several times during the night. I always wore handmade bright new dresses with African prints to go dancing with my translator, and never once wore a bra– just like every other woman in the village. Klikor will always remain in my heart, and shape the way that I feel about my body.

[fat] a new diet begins

I’ve joined weight watchers this week. The online food diary from last semester helped me figure out what I should and shouldn’t eat, but somehow weight watchers feels more legitimate?
I have metabolic syndrome, meaning that I have elevated cholesterol, elevated blood sugar, a slow metabolism, elevated blood pressure, and a knack for not ever being able to lose weight. The carrots and hummus diet did nothing. The protein water diet did nothing. So now I’m on to the most legitimate thing I can find online. I weighed in this week at a whopping 220.5 pounds. Standing at just 5 feet and 6 inches tall when I bother to stand straight, my BMI tells me that I’m obese, and that my ideal weight is 125-155. That’s 65.5 pounds to lose. And according to my doctor if I don’t lose it, I’ll be diabetic just like my grandmother. I inherited the huge boobs and bad blood, way to go.

My cortisol levels aren’t terrible right now, but stress and anxiety are words that would best describe the inside of my head. My younger sister has borderline personality disorder, my parents are going through a nasty divorce, and things spiraled out of control over four and a half years ago after my sister was drunk, drugged, and raped by a friend. At the age of 14. Chocolate and beer have been great coping mechanisms, but coupled with stress and a predisposition for diabetes, I backed myself into a cave I’m not sure I can find my way out of.
Cortisol levels screwing up means that my fat doesn’t amass on my arms, legs, belly, and boobs in a somewhat proportional manner. My legs are still as skinny and muscular as when I was swimming and weightlifting at 140 pounds. My arms have a little more fat on them than back when I could bench 95 pounds, which is pretty great for a girl. My boobs now look proportional, now that I’ve had three pounds removed at the age of 16 and they’ve grown back.
My belly looks like I’m pregnant. I bought maternity jeans because they’re the only thing that will fit me besides sweatpants. I don’t get to walk around with a sign that says “I have a thyroid problem. I have severe anxiety. I have a predisposition for diabetes.” I get to appear as the fat blob in my university classes, the girl no one can share clothes with. My weight has begun to affect the way that I can sit and move, and as a former dancer it kills me to feel unable to move easily. It feels as though no matter what I do, what I eat, what I don’t eat, my weight is slowly and surely inching up, and spiraling out of control.
Hopefully the new diet works. Right now my goal is just 209.5, 5% of my weight. And my challenge for the week is to drink all eight glasses of water every day.