AllLivesMatter. The problem is that left to its own devices ALL quickly gets reduced to and prioritized to straight white men, and the closer you are to being a straight white man, the more your life matters. I love straight white men, but they’re already protected. Their concerns and problems are the ones everybody has: livable wages, providing for family, keeping home and property safe, basic personal safety. They don’t have to worry about what the Supreme Court decides they can do with their bodies. They don’t have to worry about being refused service and humiliated by a business’ religious objections. And they don’t have to worry about whether a routine traffic stop might result in their death.

So yes, All Lives Matter, but we’re not yet at a place where ALL actually includes everyone.

BlackLivesMatter isn’t exclusionary. Nobody is saying that ONLY black lives matter. I suppose we could say that BlackLivesMatterToo – but that makes it a reminder, an afterthought, an ‘if you have a chance’ please address this. That approach requires time, and patience, and hope, and we’ve run out of those things.

There is anger in the words BlackLivesMatter, but most of what you’re seeing and hearing, is fear. BlackLivesMatter is a plea to armed authority, for humane consideration. It begs those who could kill us with impunity, to stop for a moment before pulling the trigger. To stop just long enough to ask themselves “If this person was white, would I handle this differently?”

You were in seat 14B on July 4th, American Airlines flight #3150, YYZ to LGA, I was the girl to your left in the window seat. I wanted to tell you that I thought you were quite handsome, but I refrained as I feared I would wind up having to share my candy with you – you had offered me a stick of gum, remember? And not offering you any candy in return was already somewhat ungracious. So anyway, now that my candy is out of jeopardy, wow are you ever handsome!

If our flight was crashing, I’d have been totally open to making out with you, even though I’m much older and kind of married. I understand that you might not be as cool with the prospect at first blush, but think back, I really was the cutest person between rows 13 to 15. You would have had to go pretty far to reach the blonde with the side ponytail, and I think she was travelling with someone. And the man with the crooked smile and shaggy brown hair was even further still! Sure, that petite gorgeous brown haired woman was just a little bit behind us, but she was clearly Orthodox and it was NOT going to happen. I know that looks are a useless way to make determinations about people, but in a plane crash make out situation, I think it’s a safe go-to.

Anyway, as a polite young man I think you would have gone along with it to avoid hurting my feelings, which, by the way, I totally appreciate.

Bitches be stealin’ my clothes!

I like for the ladies to be built pretty much like I am, about my height, about my frame. I also like when girls are into fashion and style. Put these two things together and you wind up with the opportunity to double your wardrobe just by dating! Sounds great, right? Lesbian!

How can this possibly be a negative?

Because every single person who I have ever lent an item of clothing to, has looked better in that that item of clothing than I did!!! Every single time! This is okay if the person I’ve lent something to is going out with a group that I’m not a part of, but if they go out with people I know, then I can never wear that item with those people again! Sounds paranoid? Well fuck you.

The problem of course, is boobs. So long as the item fits, boobs make everything better: sweaters, blazers, blouses, even skirts and pants somehow. And everybody I know has bigger boobs than I do, which means they instantly look better in everything of mine that fits them. I could of course simply refrain from being with women who have bigger boobs than me, except, well, that sounds really depressing.

The Princess will have to do for me – his boobs may be bigger than mine, but he never wears my clothes. At least not in public.

Who would kill the spiders? There’s a time and place to be a dainty little girl, and that time is when there’s a spider in the house. Would the house just fill up with crawly things? Would we eventually just have to move? I’m not talking about flies or ants, I’m not an invalid, I can take care of those. I mean the bugs with all the legs that scramble across the floor faster than I can panic. Those are meant for boys to deal with.

Would that be considered as one of the household chores that get divvied up? I’ll take out the garbage, and you’ll kill all the bugs. I’ll do the laundry, you’re in charge of managing the crawly situation. Maybe a coin toss? Rock paper scissors? I’m willing to get close enough to cover them with bowls and cups, and I suppose the vacuum is a good disposal method. Except eventually someone has to change the vacuum bag, which by the time it needs changing could be teeming with maybe not so dead bugs. Teeming!

They may not have boobs, but boys kill bugs.

Sometimes boys have boobs.

It’s better when they don’t.

I grew up with my parents and my older sister in a small suburb. We lived within walking distance of a school so it is no surprise that there were a lot of children in our neighbourhood. On the straight stretch of the street I grew up on there are maybe 50 houses. As far as I can remember there were about 25 kids about my age (5 years older or younger) who lived there for a long while. I was aware of but wasn’t friends with everyone, spending most of my time with the girl across from us, but my parents were friends with a few other families on the street.

I’m 34 now and haven’t kept track of most of the people I went to school with, and even less so with the people who I shared a straight stretch of neighbourhood with. But of the people I know of: one family has a son a couple years older than me who died of cancer – I don’t know what type. They have a daughter who is maybe 5 years older than me who has either diabetes or an immune condition. The family who lived right next door to us has a daughter my age who died of cancer about a decade ago – Hodgekins I think, and a son a couple years older than me who was just diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis. Ulcerative Colitis is the auto immune disease that I was diagnosed with in 2007.

That seems like a lot of kids on the same street with serious diseases.

I’m going to put a list together of everyone else who grew up there, send a few emails, make a few calls, and see how far this thing goes. I have to admit, this freaks me out a bit.