How to 8 Mile - a journal entry from 2016 09 18

For the record, I am not a fan of Eminem or Slim Shady or Marshall Mathers. I don’t even like that name "Marshall". I think, as an artist, he embodies the kind of white rage and misogyny that can have very real and dangerous consequences. The kind of repercussions that are also super difficult to define and vaguely connect themselves back to his music, so it’s nearly impossibly to have a conversation about responsibility. Also his music really only speaks to the problem instead of exploring solutions. Plus his physical style is bad. White wife beaters, fucking ew. (hurry, someone post a photo of me in a white wife beater)

How ridiculous is that term? “Wife beater”. We have included in the English language a name for an item of clothing that you would wear to prepare for a comfortable domestic violence session. Like the “yoga pant” or “boyfriend jeans”. We also have “wife beater” for some fucking reason. Don’t even get me started on violence against women. “Wife-beater”, like it’s a cute, playful, spanking situation, not a bloody bruising physical assault against a legitimate human. Can we change that somehow dictionary? Can we call it “domestic violence tee”? Or “felony assault tank”?

I am however a fan of the movie 8 Mile. Like sometimes, I YouTube the final rap battle scene and watch it 20 times in a row. The hiphop Britney Murphy is just so good and Mekhi Phifer, Mekhi Phifer, Mekhi Phifer until I die, Mekhi Phifer. Ok so here’s what I learned about how to be confident from movies and TV like a real millennial. It’s easy, all you have to do is 8 Mile. This is how I got through the first half of 2016:

You guys, I’m 33 years old, my life has veered pathetically off track, I’m living with my parents, I have like $200 in the bank, I don’t have a car, everyone hates my dog (legitimately, because he bites), I have no job prospects, I’m "working" in a warehouse in Santa Ana for cash (when I can get a ride), my "husband" and his PTSD have gone completely off the deep end and think that the North Koreans have kidnapped Lana Del Rey (with whom he is in a loving mutual and very real relationship). My ass is starting to look flat AND IM STILL THE BADDEST BITCH WHO EVER LIVED AND COOLER THAN YOU BY MILES AND MILES AND MILES. Go ahead and try me. 

Sorry, not sorry, you adorable civilian. Oh is your café latte not nonfat? Let me get you a manager handsome, you obviously have some complaining to do. (kiss, kiss, kiss emoji)

See? Easy peezy, lemon squeezy.