FF: Rational Discussions About Feminism

I love our blog. I love our writers and readers and the amazing conversations that can be sparked from a single post. I’m sharing two great ones today, because I can’t stand to write about Weiner’s wiener or Castro’s crazy or anti-abortion nut jobs or anything else that’s happening because it makes me want to cry. So, instead, some back and forth within the community about feminism and it’s many forms and functions. It gives me hope when I remember that for all the assholes out there, we have as many amazing people who believe in equality and rights for all. I think that’s something we all need to remember when the news gets us down.

This is an abridged version of an email conversation I had with Delaney. [This has been changed from the original conversation posted – if you were confused for a minute, you’re not insane!] This is actually a pretty typical exchange for us. Sometimes feminists don’t agree on things!

D: I think he’s been reading my Feminism books when I’m not looking. I told him about Jared’s post, and he writes “How the hell can one be a ‘male feminist’ anyway?” And I’m like, “Uh, well, I guess some men can call themselves that if they are dedicated to eradicating women’s oppression…” So then he comes back and says “Hmm. I feel like the word ‘feminist’ belongs to you guys.” Anyway, we text back and forth for a bit and I kind of expect him to…I don’t know what. What I did NOT expect was this: “We’re the reason sexism and racism exist in the first place. We’ve already taken enough. We don’t get to use cool terms or join cool clubs. We just get to “not an asshole” by NOT continuing to perpetuate this.” AND THEN “Like, the whole fucking reason that any pro-gender or pro-race group or term exists is because WHITE MEN have spent hundreds of years making LITERALLY everyone else feel “less than” and, so, terms like “feminist” come to be and how fucked up is it for us to use that term to DESCRIBE ONE OF US?! Sorry, bro, but again you get to be “Not an Asshole White Guy.” We’ve spent centuries giving ourselves special names and clubs. You don’t get to have theirs.” But yeah. He tapped into what he says is his “inner Louis CK.”

Continue reading →

Back to school, don’t you mean back to hell?

Am I the only one dreading the return of the school year? Here in sunny CA school starts in less than 2 weeks. AGGHHH!! Less than 2 weeks of lunch hours spent however I want, in less than 2 weeks pedicure bliss and eating with adults will be gone. I was unable to get my boy into one of the after school programs on campus and will be playing taxi every afternoon at 2:15 until a space opens up for him. I did it last year, it was hell! The only good thing is that he will be out of school later and I won’t be taking lunch at 10:30 in the morning, but worse than the loss of my “free time” is the fact that I am implementing school schedules now and that is going less than awesome. In a nut shell, I am not looking forward to him going back to school. I wish I could rewind to the baby stage. I feel like those times were much easier, he didn’t talk back, I could get him dressed in 2 minutes flat and be out the door on time every day. Those days are history and a brand new type of fun has begun.
Continue reading →

Want to yell at your kids? Make them laugh instead

Patience is not my virtue. I am actually pretty notorious for being impatient, snappy, and an overall dickhead when I feel as though people are wasting my time with their stupidity. This is why it surprises everyone, including myself, that I have a seemingly unending well of patience for my child.

I was reading Lauren’s post on yelling, and it made me think about a few recent instances in which my kid has made me want to rip my hair out. They were your typical childhood situations: we were running late for school/work, and he just Couldn’t. Get. His. Damn. Shoes. On. Or, he lost at Candyland and threw a fit. Both times, I could feel my temperature rising. But neither time I yelled. Instead, I’ve found two things that work about 90% of the time: make one or both of you laugh, or just give him a hug until you feel your blood pressure lower.

Continue reading →

If I Won The Lottery

My job has kinda sucked for the past six months. I spend a good portion of the day stressed to the edge of losing my shit and burning down everything in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job, I’m good at my job, I just live under a giant pile of work and it’s crushing me to death. (That may be a slight exaggeration.) Sometimes (all of the times), to give my brain a little break I’ll play the “if I win the lottery” game.

First, I’d never set foot in my office again. The lottery winners who go back to work are messed up. They should have the winnings taken away from them and given to me. Then there are all the obvious and boring parts of winning millions of dollars – hiring a money manager, setting up trusts for family and friends, paying mortgages, investments, charitable contributions (Planned Parenthood, NPR, PBS, other good liberal causes). Now, all the boring stuff is done and I’m ready to really have fun.

We’re gonna go on a giant, crazy vacation. Bring family and friends along to a villa in Europe. We’ll spend days eating cheese and drinking wine and doing whatever the hell we want – probably a whole lot of nothing. Do some sightseeing. Meet the locals. Invite three men who may be a friend’s father to come and spend time with her. Sing Abba songs. Uncover vast conspiracies with our knowledge of arcane symbols. Wear magic pants that fit all of us even though we’re different sizes. The usual.
Continue reading →

On Yelling, Because I am Really Good at It. Alternate Title: I Need to Be Better at More Things

Image

Everyone knows Mona was the boss.

So. About 6 weeks ago, I ceased yelling at my son. I’m a champion yeller. I learned it from my parents. They are also champion yellers. My parents never, not once, raised a hand to me. (My mom, I think, pulled my hair once.) Instead, they yelled so they did not beat me. That sounds terrible to say, but in retrospect, I was a Shit. Not one to cause trouble at school or at friends’ houses, I saved my smart mouth for my family. I knew what I was doing. And yelling helped them keep their sanity. So when I had my son, and he was old enough to understand PISSED OFF, clearly, the best route to discipline and express my displeasure was to rattle the fucking walls. Continue reading →

I Love My Fat Ass

I am fat. I am aware of this. I’m not a “person of size.” I’m not pleasantly plump. I’m not a Big Beautiful Woman and I don’t want the weirdness that goes with the BBW label. I don’t need to be told I’m just big boned, or I have a pretty face, or good hair, or whatever. I’m fat. It’s okay to say it. It’s not a bad word. It’s a fact. I wear plus size clothes and I have rolls and bulges and a double chin. My thighs rub together, my arms are flappity and my feet are wide. I’ve got a lot of body and I don’t hate myself. I’m fat and I’m happy.

I’ve always been big – I was 5’ 8” by the time I was 13, wore a size 8 shoe, and a 10 or 12 in clothes. I’ve always had that lower belly pouch and wide hips and big breasts and a bunch of junk in the trunk. My awkward teenage years were more traumatic because of my height in a family of women who don’t even hit 5 feet than my expanding pant size. And the giant glasses. And almost parallel to the floor buck teeth and subsequent orthodontics. And trying to figure out how to hide my boobs from creepy old dudes. (Still an issue.) Did I wish I was thin? Some, yeah, but I also wished I could marry Scott Bakula.
Continue reading →

The Weight of Your Words

“You should really eat to live, not live to eat.”

My step-mom said this to me when I was around nine or ten. Before this, my body was something that propelled me on the playground. It was for fun and function. It never occurred to me that I had something to be ashamed of, or that food and eating was something I should feel bad about. In hindsight, this comment was probably not intended to be hurtful, and I’m sure it was promptly forgotten.It’s certainly not the worst thing ever said to me under the guise of helpful parenting. The problem is, those words were the first shots in the war against my body that has lasted for twenty plus years.  Continue reading →

Laugh Your Damn Pants Off: Midgets

The inaugural LYDPO post is from Denise, who, due to recently moving, isn’t able to post herself. This story just about made Diet Coke come out of my nose and is the inspiration for this new, sporadic feature.

While walking behind a fairly short gentleman (maybe 5’3″) on the beach today Bryce screams “LOOK! A MIDGET! CHASE HIM!” The guy whirled around and I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped and Bryce took off running…after a pigeon! Thank you Lord. The gentleman and I were happily able to pretend like that didn’t just happen and hopefully next time Bryce will remember to call that bird a pigeon instead of a midget.

Dr. Awkward

As mentioned in previous posts, male lady doctors are, in my experience, rather uncomfortable to communicate with. Maybe it’s just me being a lesbian man hater, but this dude clearly has no understanding of my parts or their feelings.

We’ve been monitoring ovulation daily. The tests we are using are pretty fancy little pee sticks. According to the instructions, typically, the results will show two days of high fertility indicated by a flashing smiley face. This, typically, will be followed by two days of peak fertility indicated by a solid smiley face.
Continue reading →

Feminist Friday: Women And Words, or, Don’t Ho Me Before You Know Me (Guest Post)

Today’s Feminist Friday comes from Caroline, the woman some of us know. She’s a real spitfire and all around awesome person. Enjoy!

As a graduate with a B.S. in English, words are really important to me. More than a form of communication, their nuances and intonations weave more than our accents or speech patterns; they tell a story of how we feel about ourselves and about those whom we’re relating to. In a world where the English language is becoming butchered, abbreviated and wholly bastardized on an alarming basis (Thanks YOLO!), I find though we may not be able to control the world of words around us, but we can certainly keep in check the way that we speak to or about the people we surround ourselves with.

This brings me to my biggest pet peeve and total turn off when meeting new lady-friends: Referring to each other as “bitches” (or any other derogatory term). Just typing the word spikes my blood pressure and hearing it out of someone’s mouth whom I respect, or am just meeting for the first time, is a total turn off, three strikes and you’re out offense. My only way to understand the flippant use of this totally disrespectful word when referring to someone who’s your friend, your sister, or just another lady like you trying to do her best, is that those who rely on vocabulary like this don’t hold themselves in high esteem.
Continue reading →