The Bloomer Suit

The Society for Post-Millenial Dress Reform

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I think I want to reduce my wardrobe to fifteen dresses, three shirts, and one pair of jeans. Everything else is too complicated.

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I’ve got until 6 p.m. to rewrite my dissertation conclusion from the ground up, so if you see me on Tumblr before then, yell at me or tell people my secrets publicly or something.

Can I make up secrets? I’m going to make up secrets.

hey yall bloomersuit cooks with unsweetened chocolate

My most shameful secret! Oh no!

(I totally deserved this since my conclusion isn’t finished anyway.)

Filed under I would never cook with unsweetened chocolate bittersweet now yummy

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feminists that advocate spanking/hitting children with objects as a form of good parenting, under the line that they were spanked/smacked as kids and they turned out fine

/long never-ending fart noise

(via kochaniequeen)

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Paid sick days data give another example of gross inequality in this country


As the polar vortex rages on, showing no signs of letting up anytime soon, the occasional cold or flu is indeed expected.

But could you imagine being sick with the flu and not being able to take a paid sick day? It’s a luxury that many take for granted but according to the Institute for Women’s Policy Research (IWPR), access to paid sick days is unequally distributed amongst Americans based on occupation, race and class.

“Less than a quarter (24 percent) of employees in Food Preparation and Serving Related occupations, and less than  a third (31 percent) of workers in Personal Care and Service occupations have access to sick days with pay.”

This is a sharp contrast to the 61% of private sector employees with the benefit. Additionally, only 47% of Hispanic workers got paid sick days, compared to 64% of white workers, IWPR notes.

As with most injustices in this country, it seems that paid sick days are another example of the rampant inequality that plagues the have-nots. While this is surely a monetary issue for many employers, all hardworking Americans deserve to rest their fatigued bodies without worrying about having enough money to go grocery shopping the following week, regardless of their place on the workplace totem pole.

Plus, despite Right-wing arguments, paid sick days provide employers a host of positive effects.

Photo courtesy of William Brawley.

(via bspolitics-deactivated20140630)

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I was really pleased with my dresses and hair these last two days. I wore the yellow dress to work on Friday and loved my hair, and I wore the flowered dress today to a wedding. I do wish I had put my hair up today, hair down on my neck for an outdoor wedding in July was not smart.

(I actually bought the yellow dress wanting to impress Tzipporah and then I got it and was worried she wouldn’t, but then she did, so I feel good.)


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Jess keeps freaking out about money, and I do get it; it’s uncomfortable to be this broke and it’s worrisome in many ways. We have less than $200 in the bank at the moment.

But I get paid next week, and Jess is starting an unexpected summer job too, and we paid August’s rent in advance because we knew this was coming. None of our bills are due until August 12th anyway, and we have food in the cupboards, so as long as we’re careful not to trigger another auto-deposit on our bus passes, we’re fine.

I forget a lot that Jess hasn’t lived with this kind of poverty, the waiting-on-the-first poverty, which has you kiting a check or waiting by the ATM at midnight or calling in to the Health and Human Services hotline to see if they deposited your money yet. (I wonder what the new method is, since it’s been six years since I used public benefits - do they do texts now?) I mean, she has, but sort of like me in the car while Mom ran her card in the ATM over and over again waiting for the balance to change, she hasn’t known it. I was just on an interesting adventure that ended with Oreos; Jess just had a cranky wife who was saying no to fun things and then suddenly started saying yes again.

I feel guilty a lot for being the cause of Jess’s poverty. I mean, not really. I suspect her parents would have cut her off financially soon anyway, I just happened to show up on the scene. As soon as Jess came out, she knew what was going to happen. But, I was there, and they hate me, and I couldn’t always make up the difference. That didn’t bother me as much when I knew I was working as hard as I could (60+ hours a week) but now that I’ve taken a step back to this new job, and I am consciously choosing to work less, this makes me feel bad.

Because I felt guilty, I never pushed Jess on this before, and now she’s having to deal with it and basically grow up - fast. And I don’t really know how to be sympathetic for that. I keep telling her we’ve been here before, and I think she takes that as a criticism of her past obliviousness; I suppose there is some of that, but mostly I just mean to point out that this isn’t new and we’ll be okay. But that isn’t very comforting in the first wave of anxiety, and I don’t know what else to say to her.

I do, however, know how to make some poverty meals that don’t taste like poverty meals, and how to ask the deli guy for the ends of the meat and cheese that was over the weight, so we’re going to be okay, and once this week of stress is over, maybe even better before because we’re all out in the open with each other about these issues.

Jess’s biometrics appointment is on the 30th as well. Immigration is moving on!