Why I made my own "Binder Full of Women" (and you should too)

I was on a plane from Austin to Los Angeles during the second Presidential debate. Within minutes of checking my phone upon my arrival, I knew that I had missed out on something really wonderful, wonderful in the this-just-happened-now-it's-a-million-memes-and-two-parody-twitter-accounts kind of way. I am speaking, of course, on Mitt Romney's "binders full of women" comment. 

Having no context for the comment, my initial reaction was something like "what the hell?" After watching the clip from the debate, my reaction was more of the same. But then, soon after, I got this tingling in the arts and crafts center of my uterus, you know, that thing that sends the signal to your ovaries that says, "I really want to glue stuff to other stuff right now!"

So, that's basically what I did. 

I pulled out the binder where I keep my rent contract and the warranty on my hair straightener and all that other stuff that says I'm an adult, and I unceremoniously dumped that crap into a drawer. Then, I pulled down the picture of Amy Poehler and Julia Louis-Dreyfus at the Emmy's that I'd clipped from a newspaper and taped on the wall above my desk. I glued it to a piece of yellow construction paper, placed it in a sheet protector, and put it in the binder. It all felt very sacred and overly dramatic, but it also felt kind of right.

Soon, I was ripping an Adele interview out of Rolling Stone, printing off an article about Hillary Clinton, an interview with Maya Angelou, and trying to remember where I'd put the autograph I got from Brandi Chastain when I was ten years old. When I met her, she'd told me to "Go for your dreams." Just a quick Q then, Brandi - when are the tryouts for the women's national soccer team, again? And, also, do you have to be really good at soccer?

I was basically tracking down everything that made me say, "Fuck yeah! I love being a woman!" I can't really explain it, but after I'd spent a solid hour on a Leslie Knope collage, I knew this was important. It's important to have role models, people to point to, people to inspire you. I think, as a woman, it's especially important to have female role models - women who kick ass at what they do, women who get it done.

I'm learning more and more that the additions to my binder come from an infinite variety of sources. I recently ran off a screen grab of Sam Gordon, the 9-year-old football phenom who plays the game better than all the other boys in her league. Sometimes I copy down tweets from my friends that make me laugh because, believe it or not, us women can be funny from time to time. My next project is going to be making playing cards for all the new lady senators elected this year. Trading card protector sheets, for the win! Then I might even get some tab dividers for the section about dudes who are rocking it in the name of ladies. I'm sure there are binders full of these guys who are qualified too... 

For me, this project has become part scrapbook, part dissertation on feminism, part collection of love letters to Tina Fey that I know better than to send, and part thing that resembles evidence the police always find in the home of a serial killer. For anyone else that tackles this project, I think it can be whatever they need it to be as well. I just think, if women are going to be put into binders, it should be for a good reason and for a little bit o' fun.

Totally unrelated, but, like, does anyone have an address for Tina Fey for me to send totally unrelated stuff to?

Project: Texas, part one

For those of you that I have not told, I'm in Houston. I didn't really feel like telling anybody. It's hard to tell a lot of people, "I couldn't find a job out in Hollywood. So, I'm coming home to make money for a bit, but I'm going back. I'm not quitting" without it sounding like you're quitting, without them asking you a million questions you don't feel like answering, without them feeling sorry for you, and without them trying to find you a job back here. I'm sorry, but I don't want to tweet for your aunt's law firm.

The worst part about not getting a job in Hollywood was that I came close, pretty damn close to something I really wanted, at least twice. The circumstances that prevented me from actually landing anything are unfortunate, and, if you ask me, I'll tell you, "It was a mess." That's true. I won't tell you that it totally sucks, but it does.

I have never before in my life felt like I do right now, but I'm trying to figure all of it out and learn from it. I've already learned a lot. I already feel immeasurably better than I did a few weeks ago. At my worst I felt:

1. Like how you feel after you've liked a guy for two entire years, and, so, one hot night in May, you finally decide you can't not tell him anymore. So, you tell him, and he tells you the opposite of what you want to hear. Then, because the universe moonlights as a stand-up comedian, you end up living with the guy for a year, sharing a refrigerator with him. It's that kind of twisting feeling deep in your gut that makes it hard to believe that it will ever get better, plus...

2. That feeling you get when you ask your parents if you can drive to Baton Rouge during your freshman year of college. They tell you no, but you're an "adult" now because you live on your own in a dorm room with a microwave and coin-op laundry machines, so you go anyway. Still, you are actually a bit of an adult so you tell your cousin just in case you, you know, like, die. You make it home safely, but, of course, your parents looked at your bank statements because they decided to put money in your account because they are nice people who trust you. You're fucking hilarious, universe - ok, I really deserved this one, but it's that feeling of fear that freezes your chest mixed with the strong desire to drive your head through a wall, plus...

3. That feeling you get right before you actually throw up the first time you get a sinus infection. So, naturally, you head towards the bathroom, but you don't quite make it. Well, you make it to a bathroom door, specifically the boys', where you throw up your bright pink vomit-by-the-foot. Naturally, a cute seventh grader walks out of the bathroom and steps right into it, and, justifiably, with a disgusted look on his face, asks you if you just did this. You say no, and take a sip of water because that really sells the lie (?). It's that literal sick feeling you get in the back of your throat that tells you only bad things are about to happen to you.

Seriously, universe, top notch stuff.

But, yes, how I felt about my situation was all of those horrible feelings wrapped in one "welcome to the real world" taco. No, burrito. But now, I feel great. Truly.

Compared to before, I feel like I feel on the few occasions when I get drunk and shout things like, "I want to make out with everyone on Sixth Street" followed by "Why did I say that?" That was a weird night for me.

So, yes, I'm home. I'm working at the soccer camp I've worked at for the past few summers. I'm making money, and, when I get back to Los Angeles, I will kick its ass. However, in the meantime, I am going to kick ass at home. I am not going to make a to-do list*. I'm just going to do a lot of shit, but like really good, creative, challenging, new shit. Shit that I have always wanted to do but didn't because I was afraid or lazy or lame. If you're in town, let's do shit together. Sorry for cussing, but this is how I talk when I'm kicking ass.

Are jersey quilts a thing? Well, it's happening.

I'm also going to drink a lot of sweet tea while I'm here. A lot.

*Although, someone please remind me to call my dermatologist to reschedule my appointment. Thanks, betch.

Anne Frank

Were Anne Frank still alive, she would be turning 83 today.

However, we know her life tragically ended at the age of 15 when she and her family were captured and sent to concentration camps during the Holocaust. But, birthdays are meant to be happy occasions. So, rather than reflect on her death, I think we should celebrate all that she accomplished in those fifteen short years.

Anne Frank is Anne Frank because of every teenage girl’s nightmare – her personal diary, given to her on her 13^th birthday, was published in a book. Her secrets, embarrassments, and dreams are forever in print, and people all over the world are privy to them. There was a whole product line in the 90’s that made diary protectors with voice activated passwords and pink combination locks designed specifically to keep this kind of thing from happening.

Anne, in her own words, tells us what it was like to be a teenage girl, growing up. What I love most about her diary is that it sounds a lot like what it was like for me to be a teenage girl, growing up. I bet that if Blue Ivy’s great-great-great granddaughter wrote a diary in the year 3000, it would sound a lot like Anne’s too. 

Most simply, Anne let us know that we aren’t growing up alone. We are all confused and moody and hating these changes our bodies are undergoing and falling in love for the first time and all that other stuff our parents never really talked to us about. 

So, no, Anne, I’m not really sorry that Otto and Edith got you a regular ol’ journal, rather than a Girl Tech Password Journal with a USB port for your record player. The best thing that happened to your words is that they were shared.

On top of everything that her words meant, and everything they were about, Anne’s words were wise beyond her years. Anne was smart and insightful and eloquent, and she was young. I think that’s the second lesson Anne’s diary taught us – there’s no height requirement you have to hit before your voice suddenly matters. Just because you still need your parents to drive you to Delia’s does not mean you don’t have something important to say. 

In her own words she stated, “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” 

There are girls, younger than Anne, who prove her point every single day on this website.

But, maybe, like me, you’re already older than Anne was when she died. Maybe you still haven’t found your voice or decided the mark you want to leave on this world or even figured out how to file your own taxes. Whatever it is, start now, today. On the birthday of a girl who should be an inspiration to all of us.

And, I mean, again, she did let us read her diary and all… I feel like we owe her something pretty big in return.

Happy Birthday, Anne! May you be remembered for many more to come. 

Rachel Dratch

Writing update: I decided to try having a drink while writing today, since nothing else has worked on the weekends. So, I had a Red Stripe, with a side of two Fruit by the Foots, of course. Anyway, I was writing, and then I decided to scrap everything I had done and pick up a different project that I had started awhile ago. So, that's what I did. I'm halfway through that one, which is decent work. Maybe I'll finish tomorrow. No more beer though. Infinity Fruit by the Foots... it's actually Fruit by the Yard. Mind blown.

I've also been running my iTunes shuffle while I write. Jermaine Dupri and Eminem are really inspiring. I guess?

After I finished Augusten Burrough's book, I picked up Rachel Dratch's new memoir, A Girl Walks into a Bar. I could not put it down. I was reading it at the intermission of the Jackson Browne concert the other night.

She talks a bit about her time on SNL, but it is mostly about her life as a forty-year-old single woman, who had to actually learn how to date people, and then she had a baby. SPOILER ALERT. The whole thing was hilarious. She tells the whole truth, even if it makes her look like a doofus, which I think is pretty brave. Doofus is a pretty good word to describe Rachel Dratch at times.

I always liked her on SNL, but now I like her a little bit more. A lot more. She hasn't had the success of Fey or Poehler, but she is just as funny. Life just dealt her different cards. Whatever, it's great, please read it.

Also, when did it start getting "hot" in Los Angeles? My whole "house" is covered in a layer of sweat. I guess we could run the air conditioning... window unit. Who are these backwards bumfucks that don't have central air???????? I'VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

Op. Strake Jesuit Triple Trio Messiah songs just came on the shuffle... looks like a win-win kind of night.

Jackson Browne, pt. 2

Writing update: blerg.

I saw Jackson Browne for the second time tonight. It was at the same theater as the first time, and this place is unbelievable. It's got a family, this-is-us-just-hanging-out-in-our-living-room-and-playing-music kind of feel. It's incredibly small and intimate.

Tonight's show was four hours long, and a total of seventeen musicians cycled in and out. Again, unbelievable.

I think I could live inside of tonight forever. Unbelievable.

But P.S. - just because I'm the youngest one at the show does not mean that I am the one taking pictures on my phone. No need for you to shine your flashlight at me. Check the lady behind me, SIR.

Augusten Burroughs

Writing update: Things are moving, and I am confident I will have a completed first, rough draft by the end of this week, as was my original goal. So, I'll just leave it at that.

I don't know what drugs are or what they do to you, but I assume that I am addicted to books like coke heads are addicted to blow.

I had to look up a street name for cocaine. Shows how much I was not paying attention to that Johnny Depp movie. Well, today I got my book fix with a huge hit of recent releases. Shit, do you do hits of coke? Isn't it lines? Fuck this metaphor. I'm really happy because I bought books today.

I always like reading, but summertime has, for the past 5 years or so, been especially dedicated to reading. Summer reading when it's not required is incredibly refreshing. I have a few "must reads" of the summer, you know, the classics.

Okay, I read the Sisterhood series over and over every summer. I've also added everything else by Anne Brashares because, well, I don't have a reason.

Anyway, I picked up Augusten Burroughs's new book today. He was one of the first authors I got into who wrote books for adults, like real adults, not girls in high school who think vampire romance is real love. Been there, done that, snuck into the next theater over to watch the kissing scene again.

Burroughs also further deepened my love for the memoir. David Sedaris brought me into the genre with Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and then I sort of back-tracked and bought everything else he had Burroughs had written, and I've been following them ever since.

Sedaris's most recent book, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, was a detour from his memoirs. The same is said for Burroughs's This is How. It is essentially a self-help book.

So far, it does not hold a candle to his other works. Although, I would never recommend that because books are flammable. SeewhatIdidthere? Still, there are certainly passages of description or succinct explanations or witty references that scream REALLY GREAT WRITING HERE, PAY ATTENTION.

And I am.

I have always thought that if I wrote a book, it would be a memoir because I think that's a framework that I am comfortable in. However, the more and more I think about it, I would actually have to be talking about other people. Burroughs talks about a woman he met on an elevator in this book. Even that amount of anonymity freaks me out. Things certainly have to get more personal when you are talking about yourself and people you know.

Plus, I'm just not that interesting. Yet. Once, I figure this whole cocaine thing out, though, best seller status. What What.

Noah Gundersen

This post makes no sense. Let me know where to send the cookie bouquet in lieu of an apology.

Writing update: Well, I've learned, again, that I cannot write on the weekend. So, I've only added a few sentences to my pilot. However, my original calendar had me finishing up a rough draft by the end of this week, which is still doable! Except I'm out of peach tea, my sleep schedule for the week is already clearly fucked up, and I'm seeing Jackson Browne on Thursday. I'll survive.

Today I found myself in two invigorating conversations with my two best friends. One was about music, and the other was about television. If I was talking to my sister, it would have been about cats... I digress.

Anyway, both conversations had me amped. I enjoy talking about these things. I am passionate about these things, so, yes, I will gladly talk to anyone who will listen for like 20 plays of "American Pie." That's an eight minute song and some change.

Also, I did a 100+ slide powerpoint on that song back in middle school, so I could literally talk about that song for like 20 plays of that song... I digress.

Again, anyway, I was so wired during and after these chats and, for some reason, the phrase "talk is cheap" popped into my head. I know the phrase means actions speak louder than words, but, today, I took them to literally mean talk is cheap entertainment. Unless it's a certain pervy kind of talking on a phone with singles in your area!!!! CALL NOW!!! That kind of talking seems like expensive entertainment. Hold on while I go shower off all the gross.

But this kind of talking with regular people is cheap, as in free. And it's invigorating and inspiring, and it's better than wasting my time on Facbeook and Twitter and Dawson's Creek fanfiction sites. Because, when you're talking to someone, they can argue with you or share something with you or teach you something and if you don't get it they can explain it or they can just yell at you. Either way, it's interactive... So, yes, apparently, I just figured out what it means to socialize. Talking, good. Cat lady, die, alone.

I think you get what I mean, though? Right? Basically, we need to get off our computers (except to talk) and our phones (except to talk) and go do things and then come back and talk about them. I hate talking. Usually.

But I do like talking about aforementioned music and television, and a certain song has been haunting me for almost a whole week. I think it's an excellent example of what it means to just talk about things. He's talking about big things, REALLY big things, but he doesn't put it in really big language. It's so simple. He's just talking.

Without any more words getting in the way: Jesus, Jesus - Noah Gunderson

Jesus, Jesus, could you tell me what the problem is

With the world and all the people in it?

Because I've been hearing stories about the end of the world,

But I'm in love with a girl, and I don't want to leave her

And the television screams with such hideous things

They're talking about the war on the radio

They say the whole thing's gonna blow, and we will all be left alone

No, we'll be dead, and we won't know what hit us

Jesus, Jesus, if you're up there, won't you hear me?

Because I've been wondering if you're listening for quite a while

And Jesus, Jesus, it's such a pretty place we live in,

And I know we fucked it up, but please be kind

Don't let us go out like the dinosaurs, or blown to bits in a third world war

There are a hundred different things I'd still like to do

I'd like to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, look up from the ground at a meteor shower,

And, maybe, even raise a family

Jesus, Jesus, there are those that say they love you,

But they have treated me so goddamn mean

And I know you said forgive them for they know not what they do

But sometimes I think they do, and I think about you

And if all the heathens burn in hell, do all their children burn as well?

What about the Muslims, and the gays, and the unwed mothers?

And what about me and all my friends, are we all sinners if we win?

Does it even matter, in the end, if we're unhappy?

Jesus, Jesus, I'm still look for answers

Though, I know that I won't find them here tonight

But, Jesus, Jesus, could you call me if you have the time?

And maybe we could meet for coffee and work it out

And maybe then I would understand what it's all about