WTF

So, it's 1 am. I'm asleep. Barely.

D brings B and some girl into the house and they proceed to turn on the fucking tv. Loudly.

Does no one have any respect at all anymore?

I don't even know what to do or say about this. D tried to be charming, but I am not charmed.

I'm pissed off. Furious.

And I've had a really bad day that is tempting me to write off a fair number of people that I know as crass assholes.

And before anyone says, "talk to him about it" - he fucking knows I"m annoyed. But it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

It's his house. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

More Fartsy than Artsy, I'm Afraid

My plan to make daily posts using the 3w4DW topics went horibly awry last week. But I'm back on the wagon again now. :)

Today's theme appears to be crafts.

Crafts and I have a strained relationship, much like a relationship with a new potential friend. I freely accept that the problem probably lies with me. Or should I say problems. I consider myself to be a connoisseur of the crats aisle. In no particular order, I've bought goods for scrap booking, knitting, woodwork, candle making, drawing, mosaic making, sculpture, writing, pumpkin carving, crocheting, painting, photography, framing, cake baking, candy making, and probably just about anything else out there.

I love the idea of creating something with my hands. I sometimes have secret fantasies where I'm a baker and I knead bread, or where I sell paintings that I make along canals in wonderful and mysterious cities.

Then I run into the real world and realize something - I have pretty much ZERO artistic skill. ZERO. ZILCH. NADA. ZIP. NOTHING. FOR REALS. GOAWAYNOW.

Somehow, what I see in my head never-ever appears in reality.

Folks, I'm even stick-man art challenged.

So, I have a closet in the hallway filled with the bones and ghosts of past ideas. Every once in a while, I'll open it up and stare inside longingly at all the things I just can't do. (No, really. I can't do them. I took a knitting class once and the teacher finally moved me to sit by her and she still couldn't figure out what i was doing wrong.)

It hurts a little, deep inside, where I realize that I truly am stuck with very few artistic outlets, none of which are really "crafts." (Writing is the one exception. Is it a craft? I don't know. It's often called such, but it seems different in that the only thing I create with my hands are typewritten words.)

I've learned to live with it, though. I figure eventually I'll find something that I'm good at and that doesn't make me want to scream. I hear that beading is a lot of fun. I also might take up edible fruit arrangements. (No, I'm not lying. The stuff for both of these is so neat! *wants stuff*)

For now, though, I will simply focus my energy on other things. Both the world at large and my wallet will thank me.

$0.77 to the $1

According to the AFL-CIO (at least in 2007), women make on average $0.77 to the $1 that a man makes for doing the same work. While the disparity in pay is a fairly commonly known fact, there is a lot of shoulder shrugging that occurs when anyone wonders why.

I won't pretend that it's a simple answer. Instead, I'll just quote a few rather astonishing facts (based on data from 2007):

* Nationally, women make 77 cents for every $1 men earn.
* In terms of annual pay, it took women from January 1, 2007 until April 2008 to make as much money as their male colleagues had made by December 31, 2007.
* In terms of weekly pay, women have to work until the following Tuesday to catch up to the earnings of men in equivalent positions.

While there is no doubt that the undrlying problem here is rooted in sexism, the recent posts floating around about Imposter Syndrome and women's (in particular) hesitation to accept praise for their accomplishments or point out their own successes reminds me of a book that I read in college.

I attended a prestigious women's college and in my senior year, I haunted the career services department as people are wont to do. I remember reading a book called "Women Don't Ask: The High Cost of Avoiding Negotiation--and Positive Strategies for Change." While I didn't agree with everything in the book, it hit upon some ideas that have stuck with me ever since. These are the same ideas that now intersect with posts like synecdochic the ghost in the room, or, why modesty is a dirty fucking word.

A quick summary of the book (and of my point) holds that men make more money because they negotiate differently than women. The biggest difference? Men are more willing to point out how awesome they are.

naraht's post Awesome is as Awesome... Says?* pretty much hits the nail on the head. As a gender, women are taught from the beginning that we should not point out our own successes. Instead, we should trust our actions to do that for us. We shouldn't be "vain" or "proud" or "narcissistic" and, whatever we do, we shouldn't act like we're better than we actually are.

* naraht's post questions the need of anyone (male or female)to point out how awesome they are. Zie states that it sounds like "bragging" or "arrogance."

The problem with this approach is that people, women especially, end up downplaying their actual awesomeness. This has a name, folks, and it's called "false modesty." This is an unbelievably costly phenomenon. To give just one example, according to the authors of the book “Women Don’t Ask – Negotiation and the Gender Divide” (Linda Babcock and Sara Laschever), by not negotiating a first salary, an individual stands to lose more than $500,000 by age 60—and men are more than four times as likely as women to negotiate the important first salary. Clearly, women are doing ourselves no favors by pretending to be less amazing than we are, or by being too shy to point out just how awesome we are.

I would never presume to explain how this plays out in other women's lives and careers, but I can offer a few illustrations from mine:

I'm a civil litigation attorney. This is an undeniably high stress field that is overwhelmingly populated by men. It has the added factors of being designed to be adversarial and confrontational. Every day, I am questioned on my intelligence, my abilities, my drive, my passion and my skills. Every day, I have to show how awesome I am.

Oh, and I am awesome. I am damned good at my job.

This has not stopped me from being told in an interview that the interviewer would prefer to hire a man. It has not stopped the same interviewer from asking me if I would cry at work. It has not stopped the same interviewer from offering me a low-ball salary when he finally decided that he could "live with hiring a woman."

That interview, though undeniably one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, doesn't even come close to showcasing all of the sexism that I find in the workplace everyday - from judges who won't allow women attorneys to wear pants suits to opposing counsel who feel that it is somehow appropriate to call me "young lady" like I am being scolded for being silly, to being told that I am being overlooked for a promotion because I might want to "someday have a baby and I can't balance everything."

I do the same work as a male attorney in my position. I do it well. Hell, in a lot of cases, I do it better. And if I'm too shy to point this out on my own bi-yearly evaluations, then you had better believe I won't be getting offered the same sort of raises.

I negotiate on behalf of my clients over millions of dollars. Why on earth should I not do the same for myself over thousands, or even hundreds, of dollars?

If I don't think I'm worth it, no one else will either.

So, this is my post wherein I say: I *am* awesome. I *deserve* to be recognized as such. While I was offered opportunities because of my privilege, I *make* my own reputation and I will not pretend to be less awesome than I actually am just because it makes someone uncomfortable. I will not pretend to be less awesome than I actually am just because I'm afraid I'll sound narcissistic. I will not pretend to be less awesome than I actually am, because I am not less awesome than I actually am.

And if someone questions me about it, I will tell them that I am awesome, because it's the truth.

Now, let me close by echoing synecdochic's battle cry:

Modesty is a dirty word. Fuck imposter syndrome. Own your awesome.