The past month has brought up a lot of generally shitty stuff in the Land O' Blogs.
The online attacks and threats against female bloggers Kathy Sierra and Devious Diva lead to the Blogging Code Of Conduct proposal by Tim O'Reilly, that either pissed a lot of people off, or had them nodding in agreement.
There's a division brewing in the so-called *blogosphere*, and I hate to say it, but even here on Vox.
In any community, there are fights, and lies, and snarky comments, and the fur will occasionally fly.
And obviously, everybody knows that on in social networking and in online communities, these are byproducts of having more than 3 people connected, and this shit will happen.
However, communities are not just formed of crazy outsiders, Others, or random folks. They're made of US. It's our own personal responsibility to TAKE responsibility and own up to what we say and do online. The emails we send. The comments we leave.
Some try to cop out and say,"Well, it's the Internet. Things happen so quickly and everything's so instant, it's hard to think fully about what we're saying before we post it." Sorry, but no one's holding a fucking water pistol to your head, forcing you to press 'Post' other than yourself. And because everything is so instant, maybe that should cause us to think even harder about what we're saying.
However, the truth of the matter is, our once small community is growing. Rapidly. We're all starting to deal with the "Check out my awesome band!!1!" messages and are learning that if you're going to post a bitch fest about one of your *haters*, chances are, somehow, some way, they will either read it or hear about it. It's the internet, not a fucking Hello Kitty diary you keep hidden under your mattress.
Just because you have the legal right to say whatever you want, doesn't always mean that you SHOULD.
I'm sure all of us have had to learn, at one point or another, to grow thicker skin, or learn to not take every bad thing someone says about us personally.
As O'Reilly said: "Never wrestle with a pig. You both get dirty, but the pig likes it."
Bottom line, we all need to take the efforts into making Vox and the entire blogosphere a FUN, inspiring, proactive, SAFE, respectful and a free place to express ourselves and share our lives online.
Not everyone is going to get along or agree, but as bloggers and writers, we need to own our words. We also need to OWN our blogs.
This is exactly what the Take Back The Blog! blogswarm is about.
It's about OWNING respect, and the freedom to express yourself online safely, without having to worry about extreme harassment and threats online.
It's about taking YOUR blog back. Back from all the dramatic melodrama bullshit, and getting your blog back to what YOU want it to be about.
Bruce says that Take Back the Blog is in support of:
"The rights of women to participate fully in all aspects of our society, including specifically online in the world of blogging but indeed everywhere and at all times, day and night, without fear of harassment, intimidation, sexual harassment, online stalking and slander, or predation or violence of any sort."
Can I get a fuck yes?
Take Back The Blog! is taking place this Saturday, April 28th.
If you're wondering what the fuck a "blogswarm" is, The Lazy Iguana has the best definition:
"A 'blogswarm' is when a bunch of people blog about the same crap ON PURPOSE! It is a premeditated thing, as opposed to the usual randomness that tends to rule the Internet. Order from chaos. Entropy. Call it whatever you want."
This isn't even just about WOMEN and WOMEN'S RIGHTS. This is about all of us, and how we're going to shape the safety and the future of blogging.
I'd go all P.Diddy on you and threaten "Post or Die!" but that may be sort of defeating the purpose of this entire thing...
**UPDATE** I just came across this article today called: "Is your self-worth wrapped up in your blog", and I think it brings up an excellent point, and touches on some issues that I've read throughout Vox.
Despite all of the Dragon Drama, the idea of looking for our new home seemed sort of fun. Sort of exciting. Sort of, like we were playing grown-ups.
Maybe even sort of disgustingly romantic, you know, in a, "Awww! We're starting a new chapter of our lives!" kind of way.
...But suddenly we found ourselves with 2 weeks left to move out, and we done ain't got no where to live.
I know, I know.
Now everyone is going to get all concerned and be like, "You haven't found somewhere to live yet? OMG! What are you nuts? Get crackin' lady!!!" To which I would say, "God! I am! We're trying! It's haaaaard!" and then throw myself on the ground and throw a tantrum because I HAD NO IDEA IT WAS THIS FUCKING DIFFICULT TO FIND A MOTHER FUCKING PLACE TO LIVE!!!!!
Look, there's one town we've been looking at. And it's magical. We drove through all the side streets, and high street, and the little neighborhoods, and I squealed the entire time. The trees! The houses! THE PUBS AND RESTAURANTS!!
People think we're being picky because we don't want to look a the surrounding towns, one of which is "Punk Ass College Student Hell....with a really nice shopping center and the Thames" and the other is "Town With Ugliest Piece Of Architecture In All Of Surrey....but really affordable housing." When I tell people I don't want to live in these towns, people get all defensive and go, "Oh no! It's looooovely there. There's so much to do!" and then I tell them to SUCK IT and that I don't want to live there.
Sorry, I think waiting for the right place is important so that you don't spend the next 6-12 months of your life going "Sure we saved money, but I wake up and remember where I am and start screaming."
The place where we want to more is more affordable than the borough we're living in now, has an excellent rail station, and IS CUTE. We really like it, and it's not like there's a shortage of flats to rent in this place.
However.
I'm about to fucking go on an Estate Agent and "Helpful" Online Search Guides to "Help You Find A Home" ANNIHILATION!
Everything started off hopeful. I went on the gem of a website that showed us all of these amazing flats and maisonettes to let at the end of April, so we called up a rather well known Estate Agents *cough-DEXTERS-cough* and spoke to some perky broad, we'll call her Heather.
Heather said that the properties that we wanted to view were already let, but she'd be happy to show us some other ones. So we meet her at 5:00pm in front of the first property.
5:FUCKING-35 a blonde in a Mini-Cooper merrily pulls up to the sidewalk and out pops Little-Miss-Estate-Agent-Sunshine who "is so sorry and didn't expect her colleague to-" (that's all the explanation we got) and was just super excited to show us this property.
The flat was really nice, of good standard...but tiny. Teeny tiny. It's like, the cats would've preferred to stay in their own litter box, and never come out, because they had more room in there.
What bothered me more than the size of the place, was Heather's narration of what the apartment looked like, "As you can see it's of really nice standard, with an excellent location." It was like she had memorized the brochure and watched us to see what we were looking at. Oh, are they looking at the windows?
"...Very high standard shutters!!....Stripped hardwood floors!!!...A larger than usual kitchen!!!....Exceptional view of the well kept communal garden in the double bedroom with ensuite shower room.!!!!"
I always feel really awkward looking at apartments that I know I hate and would never live in because I feel like I'm in the Estate Agent's house, and need to be as respectful as possible.....As if they built the house with their bare hands, birthed their children in the ensuite tub, and had years and years of sentimental memories living and breathing in the walls of the apartment.
Me: "Erm...It's nice. Just sort of small..like really small -"
Iain: (clearly not caring that Heather birthed her babies in the tub) "-Like CUPBOARD small!!"
Me:(giving Iain a 'She installed these wood floors with her teeth, Iain, HER TEETH!What are you thinking??' look)
"-Really, really, realLY lovely though! Really! You're right, it is a larger than usual kitchen, and it does have an exceptional view! I simply adore it!!!"
She said that the next places that she was going to show us "weren't of a equal standard as this apartment, but as it sounds like you're willing to compromise a bit of the standard for some more room"...We were like, "Okay" and she added before we left the property, "This will be good so I can get a feel for what you want."
So we follow her to the next place. We're on this Flat Hunting High, like we're just waiting for her to show us the next enchanting location where we might call home.
"And we can buy curtains! And plates! And maybe a garden! A GARDEN! Do you think the next one will have a GARDEN?!!?"
And I saw Heather's car park....
"Why? Why? Why is she stopping here? Is she getting out?? Is this the place? OH my god."
We pulled up to this shitty, horseshoe shaped apartment complex that was painted green, and obviously built sometime NOT THIS CENTURY. I thought she was joking, but she bounced up to the warped green door with half-peeled off "NO SOLICITING" sign, managed to swing open the door, stepped over the pile of undelivered mail, and lead us into the flat...
It was huge...but with blue and red carpeting, yellowish, aged walls, and was basically my worst nightmare. It was the kind of place where even if your fucking grandmother lived there, you wouldn't take off your shoes or touch anything without gloves...or breath the air.
Heather walked us through the flat, "As you can see, it's quite spacious, with a wonderfully sized reception room, and..." Through her stale narration and complete IGNORING of my horrified expression and muffled bouts of laughter as I walked into each room, I found myself picturing myself living there.
Do you want to know what I saw?
Me. Pregnant. Barefoot. In the kitchen smacking mice over the head with a frying pan, pink curlers in my hair, puffing on unfiltered cigarettes, while our 8 children ran in and out of each room throwing the dead cockroaches they found in the tub with each other screaming, "TOUCH IT TOUCH IT TOUCH IT TOUCH THE COCK......ROACH! Aahaahahahahha!!!!!" And then for some reason Iain would be working in a factory.
Heather: "So what do you think? So much room, huh?!"
Me: "No. No. Definitely not. I hate it."
I was over trying to protect her feelings. Heather would never birth her babies in that tub.
"Oh, okay, this is good though. I'm getting a better feel for what you like!" she chirped. And then she hopped in her Magical Fairy Estate Agent Bubble and floated to the next location which was "very close to the station".
And the we drove up to the Station...and started to pull in to the parking lot at the apartment complex that FACED the fucking station.
We started laughing.
"Oh my god. IS SHE SERIOUS!!!"
But then she drove through the parking lot, to the back of the buildings, behind the apartments, and near a long row of water damaged, deteriorating sheds....and parked.
"What is she doing. Are we parking here? What are we doing? Honey....oh my god. No. NO."
Then she got out of her car, fumbled with some keys, and walked up to a doorway of a big square building that was attached to the back of the apartment complex.
It looked like either the janitor's quarters for the station, or a storage closet for extra supplies for the apartment complex. Or where Dragon stored his illegal immigrant relatives.
I became quite concerned when she opened the door to this building, and began to go inside, eagerly beckoning us to follow....
Follow her right past the huge, green "NO DUMPING" sign that was plastered against the front of the building, and into the "flat". I couldn't keep a straight face. We inched into the small doorway, searching her face for some sort humor, and found none. She was totally serious. She shut the door, and pulled open another door that was directly behind it,
"And here's the shower room..."
We followed her upstairs to the SHITASTIC apartment and listened to her in astonishment as she really actually tried to SELL US ON THIS PLACE. "It has really nice fireplace...quite spacious...nice wardrobe..." We stood in the kitchen for a moment, and despite our horrified faces, she looks at us hopefully and says, "So! What do you think?"
Us: "Um. No. Not at all."
Her: "Oh, really? I actually think it's quite nice." (aka You're being too picky)
Us: "This isn't what we're looking for at all." (aka Whatever, bitch. YOU would NEVER live here.)
Her: "But it's really close to town! Very close to everything!"
Us: "Yeah, but we don't like it."
Her: "But it's so close to the station! You said you wanted somewhere close to the station." Us: "This is like IN the station." (aka SUCK IT.)
Her: "But you can't actually see the station!" (aka You pain in the ass! Just TAKE IT. I need my BONUS.)
Us: You can hear it! And the view is horrible! We don't want to live in a complex."
Her: "Well...I think you should still see the next one I have to show you." (aka BONUS QUOTA BONUS BONUS.)
Us: "It's not in a complex is it?" (aka Because if it is, I'll fucking cut you.)
Her: "Well...Its in quite a big building." (aka Yes, in a huge, big, complex..)
Us: "...We don't want to live in a complex." (aka Are you retarded?)
Her: "You never know! It's so lovely, I really think you'll like it." (aka You'll see it and you'll fucking like it. BONUS.)
It then becomes quite obvious that no matter which ones we said we liked or didn't like, she was going to show us the same 4 place regardless, as she clearly had a quota of which houses she was supposed to show that night. AND A BIG BONUS AWAITING HER. I was pissed.
We get to this apartment complex that looks like a retirement community, or place where runaways from asylums go to make a quiet new life for themselves. The actual flat, of course, was shit. Huge! But a HUGE pile of shit. The hallway smelled like bleach, the linoleum looked like it came to life at night, and the décor looked like it was from Sears in 1959.
Her: "As you can see, it's really QUITE MODERN."
Us: "..........." (aka We hate you)
Her: "Well, I really quite like it." (aka You FOOLS.)
Us: "..........WE DON'T."
Since this little incident of MIND BLOWINGLY HORRIBLE FLATS we've become a lot more aware of the political, money-driven, business-hungry ways of Estate Agents and these "Find A Flat" websites.
Every! Single! Flat! we call an Estate Agent about to arrange a viewing has either been let, or we arrange a viewing, only to have them call us the morning of the viewing to let us know it was let right after we called.
Some offer to show us other places, most don't.
"Register with us and we'll call you as soon as anything else comes up."
Yeah FUCKING RIGHT.
These shitty ass Estate Agents will keep things up on their own websites, as well as "Find-A-Property" just so you call them. That's it!!! They get your fucking hopes up and then go, "Oooooo, yeah. That let yesterday." Yet you drive by the house, and To Let sign is still up.
The other shitty thing these places do is for when you search for a "One Bedroom in LaLa-Land" you get a shit load of properties that pop up in your price range...
However, they're all "Let!" or "Let Agreed!" or "Under Offer!". Some websites let you exclude ones that have already been let out of your search, but some fucking don't. What the fuck is the point of THAT?? To see what you COULD have had? That doesn't fucking help ANYONE!
I have gone to ALL of the popular "Let Search" websites, and practically all of the Estate Agent companies in the town that we want to move, and we still can't manage to find a place that hasn't been let already. No one updates their websites, and most are extremely NOT HELPFUL on the phone...SO HOW THE FUCK DO YOU FIND A PLACE TO LIVE???
It's lying! It's unfair! And I'm so sick of the politics and the policies and Estate Agents and Landlords. They make everything so fucking difficult when all they really have to do is be HONEST and DO THEIR JOB the way its meant to be done. I'm exhausted from looking online trying to find a home. I'm tried of calling up these Estate Agents who don't know anything or don't call you back or never email you, or fail to show up on time to a viewing.
So when I emailed a certain Estate Agent late one night about a gorgeous 2 bedroom Maisonette in Cute Town, in our price range, with a garden, and a garage (!!1!1!) I didn't really expect to hear back.
But then she called me back the next morning. And then we arranged a viewing.
The moment we pulled up to the property, I felt it in my gut, "Oh my gawd, this is our home."
Then the moment we actually walked in the flat, I flipped out and had a Domestically Induced Orgasm right there on the Parquet wooden flooring. It! Is! GORGEOUS!!!
So, we basically took it right there on the spot (my that sounds dirty) and screwed the other two couples (again, filthy) that were viewing the property after us. I like to think of it as sweet SWEET revenge on all the other people screwed us first.
Basically, we're just relieved. RELIEVED and thankful and SO FUCKING EXCITED to move in to our little dream flat that I can't even handle it.
And as long as Pearl doesn't turn out to be our landlord, I think everything will be okay...
This is THE! BEST! THING! I've seen in a very, very long time.
For those of you who are offended by words such as "Penis", or "Vagina", or people talking about sex in a very frank way...or phrases such as "they penis is on fire" I highly recommend that you do not watch this video.
Just don't do it. For your sake and mine.
However, if you'd like to embark on the journey that is the Alexyss Tylor Show, and enjoy her discussions about men, 'they penises', and her theories on women, sex and relationships...please turn up your volume (or put on headphones if you're at work), and press play.
I mentioned before that Iain and I were getting kicked out of our flat.
Basically, our landlord raised our rent by £200.
Um, sorry, do I have a book deal? Is Iain actually Tom from Myspace?
Fucking NO, landlord! No! <insert Amy Winehouse "Nooo Nooo NO!">
We can't afford it, so we're leaving. Which is actually good considering we live in a stroller infested borough where the Council Tax is out the ass and the cost of everything else is up the wazoo.
It's fracking expensive, just like our fracking flat However, the really awkward and shitty thing about all of this is that we feel like our landlord is sort of screwy.
First off, his name is Dragon. Yes. Dragon. Like the mythical flying character.
My first thought was,"Shit...That's frightening." And it is. It really is. To me, it sounds like a code-name. Like in Kill Bill. Which then leads me to wonder if he's friends with like Phoenix, Centaur, and their bodyguard LoMo. (Short for Loch Ness Monster)
Secondly, he's kind of weird. He has a very thick Eastern European accent and is just sort of jumpy. Kind of stand-offish.Like...like he has secrets. Like he doesn't really want to talk to you about your weekend or ask how you're doing because you might start asking him questions, even if it's just to be polite, you'll start asking him shit, and then he'd go all paranoid and while he knows deep in his heart you're just being polite, he wonders if you know something. He wonders if you asking how his kids are, if it's really just code for: "What is going on with the deal with Natasha, and where did you dump the body?" and then he might freak out and be forced to kill us.
So, we don't really talk.
If something is wrong, he'll come fix it.
And by "fix it" I mean he has Sasha come take care of it.
"Um, Dragon? The entry phone isn't working."
"Oh, okay. Yes. I'll have Electrician come take care of it."
Then he and the Electrician show up. And by Electrician, I mean his friend Sasha shows up with a tool box.
"Hi Dragon. Our boiler has stopped working. Like...we have no hot water. At all. And it's snowing outside."
"OH, I so sorry. I have Plumber come take a look at it right away."
And then Dragon shows up with the Plumber, and by Plumber of course I mean Sasha, with a tool box and an instruction manual for the boiler. Did I mention Sasha doesn't speak English?
"Dragon? Our bed is like...broken."
"Oh! I so sorry. I'll have-"
"-It's cool. We'll see you and Sasha The Bed Builder tomorrow."
So Dragon and Sasha "fixed our bed" not by buying a new one, but by bringing over two long steel rods that Dragon cut himself (probably with his freakishly sharp mythical teeth) and then proceeded to drill them into the frame of the bed.
(And I'm realizing while I'm writing this that I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE STILL LIVING HERE.)
Every problem, and trust us -there's been many- is solved simply with Dragon and Sasha and their tool box. But when I say "solved" I mean, they throw around some tools, bang on some pipes, ask for a screwdriver and a rag, cuss in Mysterious Eastern European Language, do a secret handshake, Sasha pees in our toilet without asking, and then Dragon will find us and go,
"I so sorry. Everything should be fine. If not. Call me. Sasha and I will come back."
Who needs proper construction workers or Electricians or Plumbers when you have SASHA.
However there are things that Sasha hasn't been able to solve..
Like the fact that our water pressure is so bad that a "shower" is just a warm, steady drool dripping out of the shower head. Sasha can't fix this because it requires Dragon to spend the money to buy us an electric pump for the shower, but he probably needs that money to help hide his Mafia friends in the country pay his bills.
I also just found out that when we moved into our apartment, it had just recently been completely refurbished...new kitchen, newly converted bedroom, ya know, the works. Well, I knew it had been refurbished, I just didn't know that SASHA, Dragon's Dad, and Dragon's brother were the ones to do all of the construction on the place.This would probably explain as to why everything appears to have been bought from Ikea, and why things that are "BRAND NEW!" are fucking breaking.
Our flat is also furnished, as we don't have any real furniture because I couldn't really fit what little furniture I had in my suitcase, and that we couldn't exactly go raid Habitat because I WAS UNEMPLOYED FOR 10 MONTHS.
I feel the best part of our decor, aside from the Magical Mint Green pastel paint color in the living room, and the Soft Lilac Breeze color in the bedroom, would be the exquisite grasshopper leg light fixture Dragon ever-so-kindly installed for us when we said, "Hey, it's kind of dark in here." and he replied, "Oh don't worry. I have lovely, perfect light fixture. It very nice. You'll like it."
But really! Aside from all of the frightening "DIY to the XTREME" stuff, and scary decor, our flat is nice. It is. We have an amazing view from both ends of the house, it's in a lovely Victorian building, with lots of room. This is why we stayed. It wasn't that bad for our situation at the time, and I got out all of my "But I want to live in the city!!" feelings, as I've found out walking home with your groceries really isn't that exciting. It actually sucks a big fat one.
So, we've obviously started looking for some place to live. The only curious thing is that we haven't heard from Dragon in 2 weeks. Now, if you were a landlord and you were waiting for your current tenants to leave so you could get the flat up on the market, and get the new tenants in, all within the next 10 days...you'd think you'd be around, wouldn't you?
You'd think you'd be making lots of phone calls to your tenants. Or perhaps even writing letters. Emails. The occasional telegram....
...But no. Nothing. We've heard zilch.
Now, we're probably just overreacting and are being completely judgemental and paranoid...
But we're maybe sort of afraid that he decided to leave the country with his Mythical Character Mafia and has taken our deposit to Amsterdam where they'll then snort our money off of the bodies of some very nice " 5 for the price of 3" Dutch hookers.
Or, maybe he's just busy.
Or maybe he'll just send Sasha round on the 30th of April to collect the keys and make sure we've gone so they can convert of Flat back to its original condition of being a office building/brothel.
You know when the phone rings in the middle of the night, and you start to sweat and freak out a bit?
This afternoon our Skype phone rang at a time when it normally doesn't, especially on a Saturday.
My stomach dropped when I saw that it was my Mom, and started to sweat and get that nasty pins and needles feeling all over.
She was okay, and had just woken up earlier than usual...
...But, it turns out that our German Sheperd, Czar, isn't doing very well.
Our poor little boy is only 6-years-old, but the vet thinks he has cancer...and that there's not much that they can do for him.
We knew something wasn't right when we were back home last month.
When a German Sheperd refuses hot dogs and all you can eat treats from your's truly, you know something isn't right.
However, no matter how much he doesn't want to eat, or enjoy the savory taste of Oscar Myer Weiners...
He just wants to play fetch with his ball.
He's relentless. Throw the ball once and you'll be playing for 6 hours straight. Only bad part is is that he gets too excited and doesn't quite get that whole "Drop it!" thing.
I think he chewed through 3 of these over-sized tennis balls while we were at my parent's house....
I've never had one of my pets get sick before.
It would be one thing if he were really old, or something happened...but cancer?
It absolutely breaks me heart that he is hurting. He's the sweetest fucking dog. He really is. He thinks he's about 4 breeds smaller than he is, and will come up and get as much of his body as he can in your lap, and lay his head on your stomach and cuddle.
His patience with my other two pain in the ass girl dogs is amazing.
...And whenever I come back home, he gives me these lovely stale, dog "OMG! Where have you BEEN ALL THIS TIME?!!?" kisses.
My heart just breaks for my Step-Dad. Czar was his long before he became ours. He raised him from a puppy, and I just wish I could be there for him now...
But...I'm just glad that I spent the extra moments with Czar while I was home.
Laying on the the hardwood floor with our heads together...his tail thumping against the wall.
Praying isn't really my thing, but if you could, please just send your positive thoughts and good vibes and happy Karma towards my little "Dar Dar" in California.
Eat a hot dog for him. (Or a tofu-dog. Every little bit helps.)
Cate Sevilla is an online journalist and the Editor-in-Chief of BitchBuzz.com. A long-time lover of grilled cheese sandwiches and retro kitsch, give Cate the corner booth at any given diner and she's a happy bunny.
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