Her Values
From the pages of Business Insider, more progressive-woman-lifestyle news:
What those values might be will, perhaps, become clear, if only by implication.
That’s the article’s headline. The star of this drama is Ms Cindy Sheahan, a former real-estate agent. Judging by the tone and triumphant photograph, I’m guessing we’re supposed to regard Ms Sheahan as some kind of inspirational figure. No explanation is offered for Ms Sheahan divorcing her husband, taking half his stuff, and then putting half a planet between her family and herself. There are no mutterings of neglect or infidelity. No hardships of any kind.
The nearest we come to a justification is,
And, er, so,
Again, the whys and wherefores of this radical uprooting remain oddly nebulous. Beyond, that is, the intrigue of unfamiliar food. We are, however, informed,
So says our woman of high progressive principle – the woman who abandoned her husband and family, and her job, seemingly forever, despite promising to return:
Quite what Ms Sheahan’s employers made of this, or indeed her husband and four children, is, alas, not disclosed. Evidently they were deemed of no importance in this tale of progressive empowerment. And so, Ms Sheahan went searching for herself in Cambodia, and in Vietnam. And Laos. And Madagascar. And Turkey and Cyprus. And France and Spain and Portugal and Greece. Indeed, this quest for self – this attempt to find an alignment of values – spanned “nearly fifty countries.”
Before – presumably thwarted – trying Italy:
And as you can imagine, Ms Sheahan is so into authenticity.
And being so authentic, so attuned to higher matters, her days are now spent eating alone in restaurants:
Oh, and grocery shopping. Specifically,
Ah, the inexhaustible romance of buying tomatoes. It’s all about personal growth, you see:
For some reason, the abandoned husband and four distant children come to mind.
Ah.
So screw those guys. Madam has tomatoes to buy.
If the above sounds vaguely familiar, you may be thinking of this.
Via Dicentra.
And yet I don’t consider myself to be a bleeding heart. I just liked how the binomial Dicentra spectabilis sounded.
Never mind that the botanists reclassified half the Dicentra genus as Lamprocapnos. I’m not changing my name or my avi.
SO many red flags. How do you induce puberty in a three-year-old with incidental contact?
You don’t. Either he’s doing skin-to-skin wrong or he’s actually applying it to her skin to see what happens.
Either way, a freaking abuser.
A good guy with a gun.
Always call it out; too many people act like it never happens.
Been chugging on these.
Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.
I would be chill about everything but the black pudding and paying for bags.
Many supermarkets here went through a phase of “reducing plastic waste” by making their free carrier bags thinner and more flimsy, until we arrived at bags approximately one molecule thick and with an 82% likelihood that the things would disintegrate before you made it back to the car. Prompting customers to use two or three, one inside another, thereby defeating any lofty planet-saving ambitions.
This was then phased out in favour of “bags for life,” costing 50p, and which are very sturdy and actually reusable.
Oh, and I should add that black pudding is not, so far as I’m aware, “a staple in most people’s households.” It’s fairly niche. I know only two people who like it, and neither eats it regularly.
Can’t forgive the instant coffee, though.
Speaking of womanly values, for my yte brethren, alas, this one is off the market. I am sure you all are as crushed as I am.
It’s the fact I’ve seen so many eerily similar proclamations, like it’s some kind of trend, a marker of status. Among broken bitches.
Band name.
I just assumed you liked the flower.
It tastes better if you don’t know what it is.
Transphobic dogs.
Cancer awareness.
It tastes better if you don’t eat it.
Heh. I actually tried some for the first time last year, knowing what it’s made of, as part of a fried breakfast at Beloved Sister-In-Law #2’s. It was surprisingly… not bad. I mean, I’m not sure I need to try it again, but it wasn’t anywhere near as vile as I’d expected it to be.
Think I’d rather have an extra sausage, mind.
Transphobic dogs.
Most animals react the same way when confronted with unnatural things, and on that note…
Reactions.
New thing for broken bitches to do.
Her announcement seems rather at odds with her Amazon profile which tells us: “I am passionate about making a positive impact on people’s lives”, says she.
Apparently, she makes a living as a personal shopper.
Presumably declaring that particular dating preference works as a kind of bat signal to the kind of financially rich but time poor women who employ someone to pick out clothes on their behalf?
How many times do you think she’s seen the movie Eat Pray Love?
This is the first paragraph of the plot description on Wikipedia:
Karma comes quick these days.
Hasn’t scared off the evil spirits yet.
That, as they say.
Eat Pray Love sounds like a rehash of An Unmarried Woman.
Again, a society that consumes too much fiction…
Perhaps this will do it.
Hasn’t scared off the evil spirits yet.
Oddly enough, because they are the evil spirits. OK, maybe just the stupid spirits.
Doesn’t a genocide require a genotype?
On NAR I read of a home goods store with satirical versions of “eat pray love” on display, as well as the original. The dept manager was upset, but it turned out that the satirical versions wildly outsold the correct version.
Pop psych and the “find yourself” trope. urgh. You find yourself by what you do. Do you “find” that you are a good parent, good spouse, a helper to your friends? Great. But you find none of that sipping umbrella drinks on the beach. A lazy narcissist looking within finds….nothing.
Doesn’t a genocide require a genotype?
Yes, but also that the genocidees not be getting food, fuel, electricity, and medical supplies from the genocideors and that the head genocidees not withhold said stuff from the standard issue genocidees. .
They tried banging pots in the Warsaw Ghetto, but this time I am sure it will stop the IDF dead in their tracks – it is a power too awfl to comprehend.
Speaking of which, we shall gather at the
riverlakeBut buying tomatoes and eating alone in restaurants IS SO EMPOWERING. It aligns with her values.
As noted here:
And from that thread, this, by Stephanie:
Always classy, that one.
We won’t all go together.
From what I’ve seen, the finding myself thing seems largely to afflict fairly well-to-do women who feel that they should be much more fascinating than they actually are. Which is to say, women who find themselves boring.
And I’m not sure the solution to that, assuming there is one, is to be on permanent holiday. As if becoming interesting were a thing one could just pick up, along with the sun-dried tomatoes.
I can understand the suspicion when too many law enforcement suits refuse to give even general descriptions of people they already have in custody when they are melanin-enriched. Holy frijoles, Ft. Hood was called “workplace violence” for heaven’s sake.
Assholery? Not really. Just the consequences of a low-trust society.
Took them long enough.
A bit harsh, possibly, but their notions of being ‘interesting’ or ‘fascinating’ or ‘captivating’ all seem to boil down to ‘being two decades younger’.
[ Takes slightly crumpled bin liner out of bin, slides it to Aelfheld. ]
What Americans is she talking about? Has she never visited specialty grocery stores in her neighborhood? They are absolutely not stocked like standard American markets.
There’s nothing “coma” inducing by aisles with teas or baked beans. Sheesh. She should try her local Asian market with tanks of live fish, crabs, lobsters. Wait until she encounters Balut. Heh.
A while ago, we were discussing whether forty or so types of peanut butter was sufficient, or indeed morally corrupting, as one indignant soul claimed. Because, we were assured, a choice of products in the supermarket somehow inhibits personal growth, the finding of oneself, and so forth.
It turned out the answer was no.
Well, somebody’s irony gene is sure missing.
It’s self-involved twats like this AWFL that put up for young children as “examples of masculinity” such self-involved twats like Harry Styles and “Elliot” Page (see https://thompsonblog.co.uk/2025/07/lie-like-we-do-children.html). It’s one big circle jerk with these people, and yet all the hard working people (male and female) who make such a soft life possible for our shining examples are invisible, dismissed, or if thought of at all, looked down on.
That is indeed a legitimate suspicion, but the blogger in question has demonstrated something less than good faith: He assumes that unidentified perps are Muslims or blacks, asserting those identities as fact rather than assumption. He never corrects himself when he is shown to be wrong. He never acknowledges the 48- or 72-hour rule, which warns that first reports are usually incomplete or wrong. He never acknowledges that the police have a duty to not name a suspect until they are certain and until they have taken necessary steps to protect the investigation (anything less than immediate release of the suspect’s name is proof that the suspect is black or Muslim.) And so on.
[ Top Gear Africa Special plays in background. ]
[ Muffled tittering. ]
[ Richard Jewell has entered the chat. ]
It’s the breed.
The police are not expected to be 100% certain. That is what the courts are for. Granted, much of this is 20/20 hindsight but that isn’t to say that the police also have, or should have, a responsibility to at least identify approximately who the suspect is, especially when they do not have him in custody, such that the public has some degree of understanding of the scope and nature of the crime. The public have a right to feel safe or cautious and if the latter, what to be cautious of.
As someone else pointed out, she’ll probably discover soon that, gun control laws notwithstanding, Palermo isn’t what you would call a safe place by any stretch. But even aside that, she’ll be in for a big shock or three the first time she’ll have to deal with the local bureaucracy, law enforcement or the public health service.
Everyone knows the trouble with Palermo is the traffic. That is…I mean, iykyk.