Over the weekend I spent time with my cousins and extended family. I should give you some background, most of my cousins are women and I realized just how insane young women have become in trying to meet guys or conversely how much pressure men put on women to be different from they way they are. I want all you guys out there to take a deep breath and give women some room to rest and be themselves.
A posting from Little Caper proves my point when she says:
I won't eat anything that's artificially blue. Freaks me out. Those colors just don't exist on edible things in nature.I am a bit of beer snob and lately have become obsessed with something called Sunset Wheat. Although if it's all that's available you can force me to drink something nasty out of a can. But you'll owe me big time.
I am OCD: I count the number of times I chew my food. I count my footsteps. If I step on a red square at the grocery store with my left foot I have to step on a right tile with my right foot too or I get a strange claustrophobic, anxious feeling over me.
I hate long toenails and obsessively clip my own. I have even clipped my best friend's toenails.
I love cake. Can't get enough of good cake, or tasty little cupcakes. Cupcakes make my day.
I like to go to the IGA across the street before a holiday and buy a 35 cent cupcake because it comes with a little holiday-themed plastic ring stuffed into the frosting. And I will wear that cheap trinket for the rest of the day while I work.
I have a photographic memory when it comes to faces. I never forget people I've met. I've been known to freak people out when I recognize them and they don't know who I am.
I never shave my legs. I use something called an "emjoi" which is similar to an epilady. This bitch is tough, that's all I'm sayin'. I even use it on my underarms.
I think there's a delicate balance between too much chest hair and a bare chest on a man. I know a man with perfect chest hair when I see him, but it's inexplicable.
I had always been a cat person until I foolishly got not one, but two dogs. I can't imagine my hectic life without the little buggers.
I am exceptionally proud that in the last year I dropped from wearing a size ten jeans to a size four. I may never be a size 2 again, but dammit, four will suffice.
I am the black widow of community theatre. I have not been in a single show since May of 1995 without a cast member losing a loved one. I also nearly killed my friend Angel during The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.
I only wear vanilla perfume and body lotion. I've tried straying and instead I wind up with a collection of body lotions that I unload on my 14 year old step daughter.
I am your typical woman I suppose, I collect shoes.
I got so drunk one time at a Clutch concert that the bouncers asked me if I knew the men I was with, just in case I was in danger of being abducted and taken advantage of.
I hate Valentine's Day. Not for the traditional reasons, but because I once received the most insulting VD gift ever and have never recuperated. I was given a card that said "Doesn't it feel like everyone except you is getting some?" and a vibrator. By my ass of a husband.
I am going to learn to play pool well enough to NOT make an ass of myself in public if it kills me.I love flea markets. I love looking at other people's crap. I hate flea markets that are full of vendors that have tube socks and paintbrushes.
I want a REAL flea market with odd furniture and trinkets and dogs tied under tables and a great food stand with hot dogs.
I crave Sundays in the sun looking at crap and trying to find "it" for the day.I have no college education to speak of. I am bound and determined to visit almost every state in the US.
I wanted nothing more than to move out of this shitty state when I was a kid, and now that I've lived ten years of my adult life here and grown attached to friends and activities here I can't imagine leaving for more than a few years before needing to return.
I told my vet once that my dog is an asshole and I meant it.
I would rather clean a toilet than wash dishes. I hate leftovers.
Speaking of the kitchen I'm a mean cook.
I don't enjoy eating oranges. By the time I've got them peeled and in pieces my hands are so sticky from OJ and I've put forth such an effort to reach that state that I've totally lost interest and have to go wash my hands and throw everything away in disgust.
I had a friend in high school who was one of the funniest people I've ever met. Rather than write traditional notes to each other we would compose letters entirely of stick figures. I can still tell a stick figure story.
I had my left hand slammed in a locked car door when I was about three, and my fingers are all crooked on that hand to this day.Three times in my life I've been carried out of a burning building. I am terrified of house fires.
I question everything.When I was five I thought this woman we knew who had a lavender mohawk, tattoos, heavy black eyeliner, and a nose ring was the prettiest woman I'd ever seen. She may still be.
I sing everywhere. My car, my home, my office, the grocery store, wherever I damned well feel like it. No one has every asked me to stop, but I have received odd looks.I love meat, but have a tough time preparing it. I am SO repulsed by raw chicken someone has to buy it for me, because I can't go near the display case. I actually went over four years of my life not eating chicken.
I loved Boy George, yet I listened to The Magical Mystery Tour daily.I've seen someone I love die.
I've never had a song written about me, but to date have inspired three poems.
I hate poetry.....
I think SPF 50 isn't quite enough.When I look through the lens of my camera life is okay.
It makes me happy to think such opinionated and creative women are out there, but obviously she has been under considerable pressure. Still not as much as my cousin who after I complimented her on her looks recommended for me to watch how she made here "monolid" eyes look more "beautiful" :
Men, please stop putting so much pressure on women. And women, please accept that you are beautiful just as you are. You do not need to glue your eyelids to prove it.
Then I listened to my cousin Matt explain to me what is what like learning to drive with his mom and I realized, my requests for sanity between the sexes are almost hopeless.
Too much pressure on women causes all kinds of problems. It can even cause their head to explode from "too much wind"
Cambodian immigrants in the US, Culture gap, Life in the US
Psychiatric help March 24, 2008
By Patricia Wen
Boston Globe Staff
(Massachusetts, USA) LOWELL - Heap You's doctors thought she was crazy.
The Cambodian immigrant kept saying her neck was going to explode, though an examination showed nothing physically wrong. One hospital put her on anti-psychotic medication.
But eventually, the mother of five was referred toDr. Devon Hinton, a psychiatrist with a clinic in this city's struggling downtown.
She arrived in his office one spring day 10 years ago with her neck upright and rigid, even as she sobbed about her troubled family life. She told Hinton that she didn't want to move her neck because excessive"wind," bottled up in her body, might surge through her neck, break blood vessels, and kill her.
Hinton realized the patient was not out of her mind. The Harvard assistant professor, who specializes in treating Southeast Asian patients, knew that some Cambodians believe that the circulation of wind throughout their bodies maintains their health, and poor circulation in the body can cause a dangerous stroke like explosion of wind.
Hinton, speaking in You's native Khmer language, told her to taper off her anti-psychotic medications, according to his records, and handed her prescriptions for two other drugs - one to help her sleep,another to control her anxiety attacks.
He urged her to continue her traditional Cambodian practices to help "wind" flow. After regular therapy sessions with Hinton, You's emotions stabilized. And she trusted these words from him: You're not going to die from your neck vessels bursting.
Hinton was one of the first foot soldiers in a national push to offer more culturally sensitive mental health care to immigrant groups,often in small clinics in urban areas. These clinicians are part cultural anthropologists, part psychiatric professionals, part medical detectives.
A key part of their work is properly diagnosing mental illness that patients often first articulate as body pain, headaches, or stomach ailments."You often see emotions expressed as a bodily symptom," said Dr. Glenn Saxe, a psychiatrist at Children's Hospital Boston who has helped develop a new mental health clinic for Somalian refugees.
Among newcomers to this nation - one in eight Americans is now foreign-born - mental illness can be an alien, stigmatizing term, and many immigrants from Latin America, Africa, and Asia are far more likely to talk initially about physical ailments than seek psychiatric services.
Over the past several years, top mental health specialists have begun a number of new initiatives to improve psychiatric care for immigrants. The Massachusetts Department of Mental Health, along with a team of researchers, are educating primary care doctors around the state about what physical symptoms might be signs of mental disorders.
This is only one of many problems that people with a mixture of cultures face as they assimilate into American life, but one thing is for sure, if men keep putting too much pressure on women and women on men, someone's "neck vessels" will explode from the stress.
A posting from Little Caper proves my point when she says:
I won't eat anything that's artificially blue. Freaks me out. Those colors just don't exist on edible things in nature.I am a bit of beer snob and lately have become obsessed with something called Sunset Wheat. Although if it's all that's available you can force me to drink something nasty out of a can. But you'll owe me big time.
I am OCD: I count the number of times I chew my food. I count my footsteps. If I step on a red square at the grocery store with my left foot I have to step on a right tile with my right foot too or I get a strange claustrophobic, anxious feeling over me.
I hate long toenails and obsessively clip my own. I have even clipped my best friend's toenails.
I love cake. Can't get enough of good cake, or tasty little cupcakes. Cupcakes make my day.
I like to go to the IGA across the street before a holiday and buy a 35 cent cupcake because it comes with a little holiday-themed plastic ring stuffed into the frosting. And I will wear that cheap trinket for the rest of the day while I work.
I have a photographic memory when it comes to faces. I never forget people I've met. I've been known to freak people out when I recognize them and they don't know who I am.
I never shave my legs. I use something called an "emjoi" which is similar to an epilady. This bitch is tough, that's all I'm sayin'. I even use it on my underarms.
I think there's a delicate balance between too much chest hair and a bare chest on a man. I know a man with perfect chest hair when I see him, but it's inexplicable.
I had always been a cat person until I foolishly got not one, but two dogs. I can't imagine my hectic life without the little buggers.
I am exceptionally proud that in the last year I dropped from wearing a size ten jeans to a size four. I may never be a size 2 again, but dammit, four will suffice.
I am the black widow of community theatre. I have not been in a single show since May of 1995 without a cast member losing a loved one. I also nearly killed my friend Angel during The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.
I only wear vanilla perfume and body lotion. I've tried straying and instead I wind up with a collection of body lotions that I unload on my 14 year old step daughter.
I am your typical woman I suppose, I collect shoes.
I got so drunk one time at a Clutch concert that the bouncers asked me if I knew the men I was with, just in case I was in danger of being abducted and taken advantage of.
I hate Valentine's Day. Not for the traditional reasons, but because I once received the most insulting VD gift ever and have never recuperated. I was given a card that said "Doesn't it feel like everyone except you is getting some?" and a vibrator. By my ass of a husband.
I am going to learn to play pool well enough to NOT make an ass of myself in public if it kills me.I love flea markets. I love looking at other people's crap. I hate flea markets that are full of vendors that have tube socks and paintbrushes.
I want a REAL flea market with odd furniture and trinkets and dogs tied under tables and a great food stand with hot dogs.
I crave Sundays in the sun looking at crap and trying to find "it" for the day.I have no college education to speak of. I am bound and determined to visit almost every state in the US.
I wanted nothing more than to move out of this shitty state when I was a kid, and now that I've lived ten years of my adult life here and grown attached to friends and activities here I can't imagine leaving for more than a few years before needing to return.
I told my vet once that my dog is an asshole and I meant it.
I would rather clean a toilet than wash dishes. I hate leftovers.
Speaking of the kitchen I'm a mean cook.
I don't enjoy eating oranges. By the time I've got them peeled and in pieces my hands are so sticky from OJ and I've put forth such an effort to reach that state that I've totally lost interest and have to go wash my hands and throw everything away in disgust.
I had a friend in high school who was one of the funniest people I've ever met. Rather than write traditional notes to each other we would compose letters entirely of stick figures. I can still tell a stick figure story.
I had my left hand slammed in a locked car door when I was about three, and my fingers are all crooked on that hand to this day.Three times in my life I've been carried out of a burning building. I am terrified of house fires.
I question everything.When I was five I thought this woman we knew who had a lavender mohawk, tattoos, heavy black eyeliner, and a nose ring was the prettiest woman I'd ever seen. She may still be.
I sing everywhere. My car, my home, my office, the grocery store, wherever I damned well feel like it. No one has every asked me to stop, but I have received odd looks.I love meat, but have a tough time preparing it. I am SO repulsed by raw chicken someone has to buy it for me, because I can't go near the display case. I actually went over four years of my life not eating chicken.
I loved Boy George, yet I listened to The Magical Mystery Tour daily.I've seen someone I love die.
I've never had a song written about me, but to date have inspired three poems.
I hate poetry.....
I think SPF 50 isn't quite enough.When I look through the lens of my camera life is okay.
It makes me happy to think such opinionated and creative women are out there, but obviously she has been under considerable pressure. Still not as much as my cousin who after I complimented her on her looks recommended for me to watch how she made here "monolid" eyes look more "beautiful" :
Men, please stop putting so much pressure on women. And women, please accept that you are beautiful just as you are. You do not need to glue your eyelids to prove it.
Then I listened to my cousin Matt explain to me what is what like learning to drive with his mom and I realized, my requests for sanity between the sexes are almost hopeless.
Too much pressure on women causes all kinds of problems. It can even cause their head to explode from "too much wind"
Cambodian immigrants in the US, Culture gap, Life in the US
Psychiatric help March 24, 2008
By Patricia Wen
Boston Globe Staff
(Massachusetts, USA) LOWELL - Heap You's doctors thought she was crazy.
The Cambodian immigrant kept saying her neck was going to explode, though an examination showed nothing physically wrong. One hospital put her on anti-psychotic medication.
But eventually, the mother of five was referred toDr. Devon Hinton, a psychiatrist with a clinic in this city's struggling downtown.
She arrived in his office one spring day 10 years ago with her neck upright and rigid, even as she sobbed about her troubled family life. She told Hinton that she didn't want to move her neck because excessive"wind," bottled up in her body, might surge through her neck, break blood vessels, and kill her.
Hinton realized the patient was not out of her mind. The Harvard assistant professor, who specializes in treating Southeast Asian patients, knew that some Cambodians believe that the circulation of wind throughout their bodies maintains their health, and poor circulation in the body can cause a dangerous stroke like explosion of wind.
Hinton, speaking in You's native Khmer language, told her to taper off her anti-psychotic medications, according to his records, and handed her prescriptions for two other drugs - one to help her sleep,another to control her anxiety attacks.
He urged her to continue her traditional Cambodian practices to help "wind" flow. After regular therapy sessions with Hinton, You's emotions stabilized. And she trusted these words from him: You're not going to die from your neck vessels bursting.
Hinton was one of the first foot soldiers in a national push to offer more culturally sensitive mental health care to immigrant groups,often in small clinics in urban areas. These clinicians are part cultural anthropologists, part psychiatric professionals, part medical detectives.
A key part of their work is properly diagnosing mental illness that patients often first articulate as body pain, headaches, or stomach ailments."You often see emotions expressed as a bodily symptom," said Dr. Glenn Saxe, a psychiatrist at Children's Hospital Boston who has helped develop a new mental health clinic for Somalian refugees.
Among newcomers to this nation - one in eight Americans is now foreign-born - mental illness can be an alien, stigmatizing term, and many immigrants from Latin America, Africa, and Asia are far more likely to talk initially about physical ailments than seek psychiatric services.
Over the past several years, top mental health specialists have begun a number of new initiatives to improve psychiatric care for immigrants. The Massachusetts Department of Mental Health, along with a team of researchers, are educating primary care doctors around the state about what physical symptoms might be signs of mental disorders.
This is only one of many problems that people with a mixture of cultures face as they assimilate into American life, but one thing is for sure, if men keep putting too much pressure on women and women on men, someone's "neck vessels" will explode from the stress.
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