Dear Special K, Shut Up. No, Really.

Hi super happy Special K marketers. I’ll bet you’re really chuffed because you’ve managed to score yourself the viral hit seen here:

In this ‘pretty-rich-ladies-who-buy-nice-clothes’ ad, you tell us to shush. Shush that voice that tells us we are too fat, that we have thunder thighs. 93% of women “fat talk” you claim (I’m sure you’ve the science to back that one up.) And you, oh noble creators of crunchy cereal product, you will change that.

Let’s just hope they’ve forgotten that the voice they are shushing is also yours. You’re pretty well know for fat talk, as I recall.

Stalkers? More comments from rude guys on the bus? My sister's hand me downs?

More comments from rude guys on the bus? My sister’s hand-me-downs?

Yep, Oh Special Ones, you are right up there with the fat-shamers you’re now encouraging us to shush.


I like to think I’m in direct competition with my wardrobe. Especially the bras.

Shhhhh! Do you hear me, internal monologue fed to me by the same companies now trying to sell me the idea of fighting you! Shhhhh!

I can drop a jean size in 2 weeks, but why would I do that to poor Jean?

I can drop a jean size in 2 weeks, but why would I do that to poor Jean?

Hrm. I’m starting to suspect that this might just be a marketing ploy aimed at the self-esteem market and that as soon as it stops selling, you’ll be right back to fat shaming me.

I think it was really this commercial, a stunner from my childhood years, that summed up the hypocrisy for me:

How about this, Special K: Instead of playing all these clever, new, Dove-inspired, touchy-feely-crap ads, you play your old ads, followed by a sincere apology. Then I might buy what you’re selling. As it stands now, it’s probably just time for you to Shhhhh!


Dear Mr. Ford, I Am Not Your Talking Point

When they stripped you of your powers, I hoped you would fade away. When you said you were getting help, I hoped that was true. What I really hoped was that you would stop talking and that, perhaps, I wouldn’t have to be so annoyed with you all the time.

I get annoyed because you use my life (and the lives of those like me) as a talking point far too often.

In your interview with Mr. Black, you did it again. You implied, falsely (as the evidence shows) that a reporter was a pedophile. You implied that he was only there to take pictures of your children to use for his own pleasure. Outside of the heinousness of casually making this sort of statement (especially when police have said that there were no photos of your home and family on his device) let’s examine what this means.

You have used your children. You have shamelessly and baselessly presented your children as the victims of a pedophile to gain sympathy and support for yourself. You have taken your precious babies and made them pawns and drawn attention to them in a way that is inexcusable.

You have minimized the experience of real victims of pedophiles by casually throwing around potential victimization. You have contributed to the muddy waters that we already wade through trying to get help. You have gut-punched us for a talking point.

You have taken a man and, though few believe you, called his integrity into question. You have attacked his character in a way that surpasses what is reasonable and correct in political discourse. If you suspect a man of endangering children, you call the police. You don’t bring it up a year later on television to deflect from your own unreasonable violence.

In this scenario, only one person victimized someone smaller than them, and it was you.

I have had a life that has not always been simple. I’ve seen you bash the homeless, those in need and those from challenging neighbourhoods. Yet now that I’m an established, middle-class homeowner, you think I’ll support you because you may, potentially, save me money?

No. I cannot support you. And I respectfully request that you stop using victims, survivors and those in need as talking points. You do not support us and we will not be still while you use us.

Run Sooner – Advice to my Younger Self

ImageOn the Internet, in the land of social networking, our deepest feelings and thoughts intermingle with our opinions on twerking. It is here that our past falls over our present, connecting us to childhood friends and work contemporaries. It is a place of emotion and avoidance, of truth and disguise. It is a reflection of life, concentrated.

This morning, a friend posted a graphic that said, “If you could write a note to your younger self, what would you say, in only two words?”

The answer came fast, almost unbidden, from my hands. Run sooner.

Run sooner. That is the advice I would give my younger self.

Run sooner. Run before they hurt you too much. Run the first time it happens. Run as soon as you can. Run now. Pack a bag. Take what you need. Take off. Run in the cold, if that’s when you can. Run with nothing, if that’s all you’ve got. Run with nowhere to go, as long as you’re running from.

Run sooner. There’s no value in waiting. They will never change. Ever. It’s been more than 20 years and I’m still waiting (and waiting to stop waiting.) Don’t expect them to be something they have never shown you they can be. People don’t change, and even if they do, they won’t do it in time. Run now.

Run sooner. Run when her hands land on you. Run when his hands destroy you. Run from the rules – ┬árules that do not raise you or refine you, but rather imprison and confine you. Run now. Run right now.

Don’t wait until you have someone to save you, because most people are not saviors. Most people will be afraid of your life and your intensity and your instinct for self-destruction. You will be alone, and alone is scary. You will lose yourself and that is scarier. Still, run. Run faster, run quieter, run sooner.

If I could go back and hold my own hands and look into my own eyes, I would say “Run.”


PS: I would also say don’t pierce your own belly button. It will only end in tears.