Garcia also bucks a few other stereotypes: she’s an I.T. nerd and she’s sexy.
I’m really proud of being part of that whole geek/chic, girl nerds, glasses are sexy and all of that because I think it’s true. In America, I don’t know about in other places, but there is this mythology about the way a woman is supposed to be and look and act and that’s what makes them sexy. And I love being the alternative to that. I play this little sexpot on a TV show and she wears between a size 12 and a size 14. I feel like everybody’s body is their body. I play a character that’s not based on any of that. They’re never once talked about my size on that show, not once. You know? There’s never been any kind of mention about it. And I’m the only character on the whole show that you’ve ever seen have sex. Plus, I flirt with one of the sexiest boys in television constantly.
“the thing about patriarchy is that individual men, gay and straight, are often really wonderful people who you love deeply, but they have internalized some really poisonous shit. so every once in a while they say or do something that really shakes you because you’re no longer totally certain they see you as a human being, and you feel totally disempowered to explain that to them.”—
Oh my god, this explains so much. It’s so upsetting as well to be having a normal conversation with a guy who then says something so dickish, so offensive and they don’t even realise, so much so that they then get offended with you for ‘nitpicking’ and ‘I didn’t mean it like that’ and ‘why are you being so uptight, just relax’ ugh ugh ugh. (via dizzydizzydinosaurs)
“1. The Shutter Door opens to the dryer
while an accordion unravels.
His shirts are missing
from the bundle of clothes
smelling of mint.
It is no longer fun to walk
around the house—
I am heavier than the marble urn—
the weight of my mind is heavier
than a bowl of pecans.
the nutcracker. 2. Microwave Burnt toast out smells oatmeal.
The banana is on fire only for a day
then its brown rash becomes too sweet.
My boyfriend fucked my sister
over and over.
Before, wrong was more mild,
hard butter ripping cracked wheat.
A cracked tooth catches food
like fingernails will dirt—
fingers tell the truth when no gloves are available. 3. Night Stand with Paper My dream last night offered my demons bread.
I remember his lips as being dry.
It is much better to remember this
than it is to think soft and soothing.
A pagan prayer group offered me
a silk bag smelling of herb.
The paper picks up the herb and relaxes—
its sigh audible like tissue being folded.
One corner aligns itself with the other corner.
The corners of the bedroom are now white.
He would not like the movement
away from the cave. 4. Small Table Grandma is missing from the drawer
as are her glasses, black rimmed and pointy
like forks. A lady bug crawls onto my toe.
There is a beetle waiting for us
at the door. I step over it.
There is plenty to step over—
rocks, his touch, rocks, my thought of him, rocks…
Atlas shrugged and the world went away. 5. Big Screen TV Blondie sings the time is right.
I wonder for which flower.
They say we have a core personality—
those people with notebooks.
I don’t own spiral pads of paper,
the ragged edges make me nervous.
They make medicine for things like that.
I am already a tank full of drugs.
Anymore, and I might drive through the window.
My grandfather drove through his front window.
It was unexpected. That same day
my painting winked at me
as if she had a secret. 6. Short Black Stool There is no belt, but I hang on
and drink coffee. It leaves me wide-eyed and calm
like a Ritalin baby. I need sunglasses to hide my surprise.
It is best to act like dogs. They lift their legs casually
to pee. In the Philippines, people stand on toilet seats.
He tells me this over green beans and meatloaf.
Lies fall from his mouth like coins
from a till. A nickel carries more weight
than a penny, but they are both still coins. 7. The Study It was a day of red cranes
and green grass. Call it Christmas. 8. Bathroom His mirror reflects pale heartbreak
in the lines of my forehead.
I see what dangles from my left wrist.
The length of dental floss
is monitored in a psych hospital.
I refuse to wear a gown to bed,
preferring silk pants to a cotton hem
which is breezy and gathers gnats.
Gnats aren’t all it gathers—
it gathers bad company, too. 9. Hall Door There is no need for a urinal any longer.
The door swings on hinges,
stands tall in the hallway.
Annie likes to pee on bathroom mats.
I try to teach her not to be a dog
by inviting her to sit on the couch.
The couch can hold three people…
after that its arms get in the way.
Maybe I will saw them off at the pit.
Pits often contain snakes.
I have yet to be bitten in the dark.
If bitten, I don’t know that I would bite back. 10. Closet Shelf The stuffed animals he gave me suffocate in the closet,
bagged in clear plastic. A pink bear doesn’t calm the heart.
He won’t be returning. The cheese molds,
it too wrapped in plastic.
Sandra’s brother got drunk and wrapped his head
in a dry cleaners bag. Fatal error.
There is a chill in the closet
and many sweaters to pick from,
all black except for a short orange
frockish thing. No one can make me wear it.
He is loosening around my chest,
but still not gone. There is gravel on the patio. 11. Bathroom Wall The wall wants to follow the iron cat.
It is too tame to move from the bathroom.
The rest of the house is silent
compared to the rush of toilet water.
Blue tunes play on the radio. 12. Portrait Move the ghost out of the family photo.
I feel her gaze over my shoulder.
The day turns purple to match the weave
of my drapes, the waists of which are gathered
by a rope. My neighbors peer in.
The dogs watch them.
A man in denim growls. It is Monday.
The week begins at half mast.
My right leg has fallen asleep.
A bee could sting me,
leaving its stinger and ass in my thigh. 13. Refrigerator Light hearted lemons.
Thread the frozen corn
and you have strands of Christmas. 14. Front Door The dust is an obvious trail to the outside.
Brutus lunges for the morning.
The wind is trying to leave my lungs.
I collect breath before opening the door.
The world is a thief in brown pants.
Forlorn is a mood of sad, a mood of lonely,
a blue pear in an empty Easter bonnet.
My Jewish friend said to celebrate
the Phoenix rising, to be the Phoenix
this particular Easter.
Two girlfriends and I will eat pizza,
watch Walk the Line.
I will draw my own line in the crook
of my smile.”
Kristina Morgan, The House After Him In Fourteen Places (via holdonmagnolia)