doahleigh - Holy Waste of Teabags!

Yes I am. And it’s long. So don’t start this if you’re in a hurry. I know how you are, so busy you only have time to skim your favorite blogs these days. Well slow down and set aside a little time for blog-reading. It’s important for your health. Proven scientific fact.

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The other night in class some people in my group started talking about last names. One of the girls is getting married soon, and she has been struggling with what to do about the last name issue. She said she had always planned to keep her last name, but her fiancé had “a really good argument” about why she should change it to his. She didn’t expand on what this “good argument” was, but now she is considering making her current last name into a second middle name.

My interest and deeply-considered feelings on this subject have already been documented on this site, so you know I couldn’t resist joining this conversation. I listened quietly for awhile until I couldn’t hold it anymore, then I jumped in with “So why exactly did you change your mind about keeping your name?”

I never did a clear answer on this from her, but I did share that I plan to keep my last name when I get married. Immediately the whole group looked at my left hand.

Are you engaged though?
No, but I’m really attached to my last name and I’m going to keep it.

Then the used-to-want-to-keep-my-name-until-my-fiancé-had-a-good-argument girl said the thing that makes my head spin every time.

Yeah, that’s what I used to think too. When I was in my “independent stage.” You’ll change your mind when you meet the right guy.

Of all the arguments for changing your last name, this one makes me the most frustrated. If you explain that you just never thought about it before, I can ask you what you might have done if you did think about. If you tell me that you didn’t know you even had a choice, I can ask you what you think now that you know you do. If you say that your last name used to be Ballikker and you couldn’t wait to marry your husband and become a Lopez, I really don’t blame you. If you explain that you want you, your husband and your kids to have the same last name, I can ask you if you ever considered using your last name instead. But when you tell me that you did it because you just love him so much and you’re so proud to be Mrs. Whatever because you’re just so proud of him and oh just wait until you meet the right guy, you’ll see, you’ll change your mind too? I kind of want to take a branding iron to your face.

I believe that you love your man, and I’m sure that you’re proud to be his wife, but the implication is that I don’t (or won’t) love my husband as much. If I did, I’d be tripping over myself to take his name. Or that my well thought out ideas of this whole thing, my personal opinion and decision, will mean nothing when I do finally meet the right guy. I take great offense to that. I can love someone, I can be proud of them and not want to change my name. Please don’t assume that I will change my mind just because you did.

[Before I go any further, I should include a disclaimer. I know that people learn and grow and change over time, so I’m fully aware that I, in fact, might change my mind for a multitude of reasons. But your assumptions only demonstrate that you don’t think I’ve given this serious thought, and that my friend, makes you wrong.]

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In a related story, a few weeks ago a friend said something similar to me. She said, essentially (with no prompting whatsoever - we weren’t even talking about this!): “I used to be like you. I used to think that stuff about keeping your name was important, but then I met Whoever and it didn’t matter anymore. I’d be proud to be Mrs. Whoever, and now I know all that stuff just isn’t important. You’ll see.”

I told her that she was wrong, that that is not the reason she is going to change her name. I may have been brash, but I told her that the real reason is that it’s a tradition of our culture. A lot of people who are in love get married and don’t change their names. Or they hyphenate, or they do a number of other things. They are no less proud or in love than you. If that’s really the reason, then why isn’t he taking your last name? Does he not love you that much? Is he not that proud to be your husband?

In a neutral world where there was no history of this custom, a couple who loved each other greatly and planned to get married might have a conversation about wanting the same last name. And they would discuss what to do—both have his, both have hers, both have both, create something new? And they would figure out together what is the best solution for both of them. Without bias, without preconceived notions, without the pressure of tradition, without the expectations of society, without blinders on. Did my friend have that conversation with her fiancé? No, I know for a fact she did not. And why not? Because we don’t live in that neutral world. We live in a culture that tells us women take their husband’s name, and even if you think you might not want to, it’s something you do for love. Just wait, you’ll see.

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Maybe part of the reason I feel so strongly about keeping my last name is that my own mother has changed hers seven times. She’s had some bad luck with marriage. Of course I wouldn’t get married unless I planned to make it work forever—I’m not planning on divorce—but I’ve seen the reality and so yes, it makes me wary. Let me just demonstrate for you what my mom’s name roller coaster has been like in the last 47 years (names have been altered obviously):

McElm to Wade to McElm to Dodd to Wade to McAlp to McElm to Huizenga

Yes the real McElm and McAlp names sounded that similar, and yes she changed her name to match her children’s (”Wade” – my dad’s last name) after her second divorce. The point is that somewhere in all of this, she kind of lost her identity. She has had so many different names that she doesn’t have any real connection to any of them anymore. Her newest name doesn’t fit her at all in my opinion, and even though she seems to have finally met the right guy, I don’t know if the final name change was really necessary. And even though she doesn’t seem that connected to any of her previous names, the one that seems the most genuinely her, the one that seems the most natural, is McElm, her original name.

I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want to be this and then that and then this again. I know, I know, if I get married it should be forever and that won’t matter. But the name that fits me, the name that represents me and feels like home is mine. I don’t want another one, no matter how much I love someone.

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The final thing that I’m thinking about while I’m on this topic is this idea of the last name as a gift. I read on a message board recently that a woman’s fiancé had always planned on “giving his name to his wife” and that he felt like this was an important gift that she was rejecting by keeping her own name. That seems silly to me. I know he genuinely thinks it’s a gift because he’s probably been taught all along that it is. That someday he would meet the right girl and he would give her his name, and that he shouldn’t give that away until he meets the right woman. Huh, kind of like how girls are taught to save their virginity and only give it to the right guy. Why do you get the gift of my vagina and I get the gift of your name? Well, I don’t want it. So I’m sorry that your gift is being rejected but maybe you should have gotten to know me and my preferences better before deciding what kind of gift to give me. I’d much prefer a trip to Europe. Why isn’t that a tradition? The customary free trip to Europe when you get married? Instead of marking on your marriage license what your new name is, you mark where you’d like to travel: Czech Republic, Ireland, Italy, Poland?

The worst thing I’ve heard is this idea of women having to earn their future husband’s last name. One guy I know says that he basically demands that his fiancé take his last name. If she doesn’t want it, then she doesn’t need to marry him. Or I’ve heard of guys who say their girlfriend needs to change something about herself—her looks, her behavior, her opinions—before she can be allowed to carry the Whatever name. And what bothers me more is that women go for this! Oh okay, I so badly want to be Mrs. Whatever, I’ll shape up. I’ll change myself, just please please please give me the gift of your last name.

I better stop, I’m getting very sarcastic and people are going to start getting annoyed. Wait, is anyone even still reading? If you are, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. You can disagree all you want (and I really do respect your choice to change your name if that’s what you’ve done or want to do, this isn’t an attack on you or your decision), as long as you don’t call me bad names. I might even allow that if the bad names are framed by intelligent, thought-provoking words.

I really did try to give this book a chance, but it’s just not for me. I can’t relate to any of the anecdotes, nothing resonates with me and I can’t take the advice seriously. I really wanted to finish it though. It felt wrong to pick up a book about being more positive just to criticize and discard it. I thought if I just kept reading, surely I could take something away from it.

And don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bullshit. It did get me thinking about thinking more positively, but the way it’s written has really turned me off. Even Brad has told me to give up and look for something else because I think I scowl when I’m reading it. Yet I was still determined to plow through, determined that I was going to learn from this book damn it. Somewhere in here there’s a gem that’s going to change my life!

But I was in the middle of chapter five (of seventeen) last night when I had to give up. Here’s the passage that made me quit:

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying so, that is a mighty pretty hat* you are wearing.”
She looked up at him and said, “Thank you.”
“And I might add,” he said, “that sure is a pretty dress you have on. I like it so much.”
Being a woman, this appealed to her, and despite the fact that she was not feeling well, she brightened up and asked, “Why in the world did you say those nice things to me? It is very thoughtful of you.”
“Well,” he said, “I saw how unhappy you were. I saw that you were crying, and I just asked the Lord how I could help you. The Lord said, ‘Speak to her about her hat.’ The mention of the dress,” he added, “was my own idea.” Ralston Young and the Lord together knew how to get a woman’s mind off her troubles. [emphasis mine]

Oh really? Just compliment a woman on her clothes and all her troubles leave her mind? This woman later admits she is in constant pain, which is why she looked down and in need of help when Ralston met her. Years and years of constant pain, but Ralston and the Lord knew that all you gotta do is tell a woman she looks pretty and TA-DA! her mind is clear of troubles. Why don’t we just go around complimenting women on their outfits all day and nobody (at least the women) will feel sad again. Just one compliment after another. Nice hat! Nice dress! Nice shoes! Nice purse! Nice belt! Nice earrings! Nice jacket! Oh look I’m so distracted with fashion compliments, which appeal to me so much because I’m a woman, obviously, that I completely forgot I have no job, two broken arms, a chronic disease and my family has abandoned me.

If the above passage was an isolated ocurrence I wouldn’t be so bothered, but the majority of the author’s examples are about men, and the few women are people I have nothing in common with. I’m not in dire straits, I’m not at the end of my rope, none of those clichés. I just want to learn to have a better outlook. Like I said, this book wasn’t written for me. I can see how a lot of people would get good things from it, but I’m ready to give up and find something better for me.

Any recommendations?

*When I was reading over this before publishing, I realized I had written ‘hate’ instead of ‘hat.’ Coincidence? I think not.

The other day I was out with someone, I’ll call her Mary, and she noticed an old friend of hers that she hadn’t spoken to in years. I’ll call her Sally. Why haven’t you spoken, I wondered. And she told me a story about the falling out they had. She and Sally had been out at a bar and Sally met a guy who she went home with. Later that night she called Mary, very distraught. This is how Mary told the story:

She said that he raped her, but he totally didn’t. They started having sex and she didn’t like it because he got kinda rough. But I mean, once you start, you’re kind of committed ya know?

Actually no, that’s not true. You can say no anytime you want, no matter how far you’ve gotten.

Yeah but she didn’t really say no. She just told him she didn’t like it. And you know, she didn’t get the sympathy from me she was expecting, so she stopped talking to me.

I kind of dropped it after that because I had made my point—you can say no at any time and it’s totally valid—and if she’s someone who doesn’t sympathize with that kind of situation, I wasn’t really sure what else to say. I totally can’t relate to that thinking. And she lost a friendship over this! I guess I just know who not to turn to if anything like that happens to me.

It scares me though, the whole rape culture, the whole mentality that victims can ever be blamed. If you’re committed as soon as you’re in the act, are you committed as soon as your pants are off? As soon as you start making out? As soon as you agree to go back to his place? As soon as you flirt with him at the bar? As soon as you tell him your name?

I know that sounds ridiculous, but there are so many ridiculous assumptions and beliefs out there regarding rape and sexual assault that really, it’s not that far-fetched. I read almost every day about a woman who was blamed for her rape. Or how many people believe that if a woman wears sexy clothing she can’t expect not to be raped. Or how the word “rape” is banned in the courtroom during an alleged rape case. Or that women shouldn’t be in dark parking lots alone at night because then it’s their fault if they’re attacked. Or how a woman’s sexual history affects her status as victim. Or how abortion in rape cases should only be permitted if the act is brutal and savage and committed on a young virgin who was saving herself for marriage. Everyone else? You didn’t get a choice in what happened to your body during the rape, and you don’t get a choice about what happens to your body now that you’re pregnant.

It depresses me. It really does. Sometimes I have to block it out, pretend it’s not real because otherwise it can consume me. I’d like to volunteer or work at a rape crisis center or a woman’s shelter, but I’m afraid that it will take over my life and my mental health. I haven’t been raped or attacked, but for some reason this issue is so close to me. I haven’t quite figured out how to deal with it and fight it without being consumed by it.

I’m having a problem with the current season of The Real World. I haven’t really watched RW in years, mostly because I didn’t get MTV, but somehow I got interested in the current season. It’s much the same: drinking, fighting, general debauchery. When did this show become less about finding out what happens when people start getting real and more about what happens when people drink too much and have orgies in the hot tub?

That’s not really my problem though. My problem is all the fucking misogyny! What’s with all the woman-hating and general degradation?

First there’s Greg who doesn’t use the word “girl” or “woman” but refers to all of us as “females” and says it in the most condescending way possible. And he doesn’t date, he associates. He doesn’t have girlfriends, he has “female associates.” I think he used the phrase “female I associate with” about eight times in last night’s episode. And he reprimanded his current “female associate” for daring to talk to the other females in the house. If she wants to talk to them, she can come to the house as their guest. If she’s there with him, there’s no associating with anyone else. All focus on him please.

Then there’s Sarah and Kim. Oh Kim, how badly you need a little feminism in your life. Day one in the house, Kim asks Brianna, another housemate who happens to be a stripper, to teach her to work the pole. I’m okay with that, but when you later turn around and throw her stripping in her face, calling her a whore and a slut, saying only lazy people strip and telling her to “go back to her pole”? Then I’ve got a problem. Every time a girl visits one of her male housemates, she opens up her artillery of sexist insults and starts calling names.

“I’m hotter than the whore in the glitter belt.”

“Stop bringing naked whores home.”

“Why are there dirty sluts in the hot tub?”

I want to cry a little every time she says something like that because how is that helping? Maybe it’s making her feel better, but those girls didn’t actually do anything to her. They’re just there, and maybe they’re pretty or sexy, and that’s just not okay with Kim apparently.

Sarah’s a little better, she doesn’t throw around the woman-hating words as much. But she does laugh at Kim for doing it, and she did agree with her on the whole only-lazy-people-strip thing. However, when she told her dad about all this, her dad told her to “give it to the lord” or something like that, maybe quoting the Bible a little, and convinced her that she should love Brianna even though she’s different than Sarah. Which, actually yeah, good advice. Why would you judge and hate and tease someone just because they have a different kind of life than you? If it takes your Bible quoting dad to teach you that, then fine. Just learn it. And she has, a little bit. So she’s a notch above Kim in my book for now at least.

Now here’s the kicker. It’s the men on the show (or some of them) that are standing up against some of the misogyny. They’re not perfect by any means, but when Kim and Sarah were saying that Brianna could have gotten a job at McDonald’s and she obviously looooves stripping because she’s a dirty slut, Dave argued that not everyone has had the choices they’ve had or the opportunities they’ve had. And that they shouldn’t judge her circumstances just because they’re not the same as theirs. And that the pay at a fast food joint isn’t the same as a strip joint, and sometimes there’s very little choice about where or how you make your money. Or something along those lines, there was a lot more yelling involved so it wasn’t quite so coherent. But I kind of wanted to hug Dave just a little for that.

Last night’s episode included a visit from Sarah’s boyfriend Ryan who, it was mentioned, was a Women’s Studies major. At some point Sarah and Greg (remember him from earlier? The one with “female associates”?) got into a yelling match over, oh I don’t know, Greg was talking too loud while she was trying to sleep or something. I’m not really sure what all was said during the exchange, but when it ended, before walking away, Ryan (who was silent up to this point) calmly said to Greg, “Two things. First of all, don’t call my girlfriend a bitch. Second of all, don’t refer to women in general as hos.” The end, thank you Ryan.

Those are just a few obvious examples of how this show is going so far, but this whole season is just not painting a very good picture of women. Either they’re slutty whores or they’re close-mindedly calling other women slutty whores. It’s not good. At the end of the show last night, I growled and said to Brad, “This show is so frustrating. So much misogyny!”

And yes I’m going to keep watching. Not because I support those views but because despite the editing that creates the overall picture, these are actually real people. I want to see if they change, if there’s any hope. I want to see if Kim and Sarah can learn to live with a stripper and actually be her friend, not just pretend to be her friend while demeaning her and her lifestyle behind her back and to her face when it’s convenient. I want to see if Greg can learn that women aren’t just “associates” for his pleasure and use. That they’re real people, and even if they may be flawed and maybe they even hate on other women themselves sometimes, they’re not “females: opposite of and less than males” (I swear that’s what it sounds like when he says it).

Is anyone else is watching? Have you noticed this? It’s not just me is it?

I don’t want a career or a baby. Is that so wrong?

Okay that’s not entirely true. I will probably want a baby someday, and I’ll probably always have a career. But I’m not really passionate about either, and that truth doesn’t seem to fit anywhere in our society’s ideas of women. You choose a career or you choose motherhood; you give up having a family so you can become a CEO or you give up the pursuit of the top so you can you have a family. There doesn’t seem to be anything in between.

And yet, I’m somewhere in between. So I wonder… what does that make me?

If you’ve already seen it, you may have guessed that I watched “Baby Mama” over the weekend. A movie in which a thirty-something woman decides that after years of climbing the corporate ladder, she’s ready to be a mommy. This isn’t just a woman was going along in life and forgot to have a child—she intentionally did not pursue motherhood because she wanted to be a rockstar at her job. And she is! At the time of her maternal realization, she is also promoted to vice president of something or other (details allude me). But this is clearly a woman who made a choice between kids and career.

Which is the dichotomy that is almost always set up for women in the media. Movies, television, the news, even blogs. You always see something about “More women giving up careers to stay home with kids” or “Family and work: can you have it all?”

Why does it have to be one or the other? What if I don’t want either? Or what if I just don’t want either that badly?

I have a career, and I’m even working on a master’s degree so I can continue that career. But I can’t say that I have ambitions to be a big fancy anything. I don’t work because I love working, I work because I have to. And since I have to, I make sure I do a damn good job—I’m good at what I do, and I’ve excelled at every job I’ve had. Since I have to keep working for, well, ever really, I’ll continue to make sure I’m good at what I do. But don’t expect me to make sacrifices in my life for my job. Ever. No I will not give up my allotted vacation days so I can demonstrate my dedication!

Likewise, I suppose I’ll have a baby someday too. Am I dying to be a mother? Does my uterus cry out every time I see a newborn? No and no. As a matter of fact, I keep assuming the maternal urge will hit me eventually, but so far, nothing. Motherhood is in my plans, but I have no idea when and I’m certainly in no hurry. So having babies is not my ultimate goal, to say the least.

So, to refresh: I’m not a superdriven career woman and I’m not a mother-in-the-making. What am I?

It’s not so much that I’m on a crusade to change these perceptions, but just that it’s starting to wear on me. I know that I should be okay with not fitting into either mold, but the constant reminder that I should be is starting to convince me that maybe I’m just lazy. Maybe I should get off my ass and climb the ladder. Or get off my ass and make some babies. I’m not doing anything, I’m just sitting here reading lots of good books and traveling whenever I can afford it and spending time with my family (of the sibling and parent nature…not the husband and kids kind). WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!

You see my point I’m sure. What is so wrong about wanting my life to be about interesting things: people, places, books, etc? Nothing. There’s nothing wrong and I know it. Yet I feel all this pressure, like, okay woman you’re 27 and you’re nowhere near becoming a mommy. That must mean you want to be a big shot career woman, but uh, nope. You don’t seem too interested in getting to the top very fast. So what exactly is it that you’re doing that’s worthwhile?

Um… I just started a book club. I went to New York last month. Does that count?

Sometimes I wonder if this whole grad school thing is just a result of that pressure. Like in order to keep going and getting better jobs, it makes sense to get some more education. And since I’m not doing anything very domestic, maybe I should try to be better at working for a living. So here I am, back in school. I’m not even sure what I want to do with this degree!

The worst thing is that as I get older, this is only going to get worse. I’ll be expected, more and more, to either procreate or tack a fancy title after my name. Or both. And all I’ll have done is read a few hundred books and taken a couple dozen trips. Is that so wrong?

Last night I was walking around the mall with my sisters and mom—we had been visiting my youngest sister who works at Macy’s, then hit the food court when her shift was over. Walking down the main corridor of the mall, some guy looked my sisters (only two of the three were there) up and down and said “Hey” in the most disgusting way possible. Andrea ignored him completely, and Kelli said a bored “Hi” back, and we all kept walking.

Essentially the encounter was harmless, and maybe it’s just because I don’t like nasty guys hitting on my baby sister, but I was really bothered by the exchange. I kept saying, “Gross, do guys do that to you a lot? How do you stand it?” I can’t imagine walking around and being ogled all the time. How uncomfortable.

Now I consider myself decently attractive, and even if you disagree, I’m still pretty okay with the way I look. But I’m not what you’d call “hot.” My sisters are.

I remember when Andrea and I were working and living together at Yellowstone - we’d walk into the cafeteria, and very subtley, everyone (or so it seemed) would watch her. Guys and girls. Some were checking her out, some were just noticing her, but either way it made her so uncomfortable. She didn’t like the attention and would get anxious, walk quickly through the room, eat fast and get out. One of the first times, when it was still a room full of strangers, we walked in and she looked at me anxiously and said, “I just want to leave.”

Emily hosts karaoke, and every time I go to support her (because I sure as hell don’t go to participate!) I hear drunk guys yelling disgusting things at her that they, apparently, think are compliments. And now I see that even Kelli, my baby sister, is being checked out in a disgusting, demeaning way by complete strangers who find nothing wrong with letting their eyes blatantly wander up and down a girl’s body.

I don’t get that kind of attention, and I thank god for it. I’m realizing more and more how blessed I am to be sort of average. I don’t draw attention for being “ugly” nor for being “hot,” and I’m actually quite relieved and happy about that.

There was an episode of King of Queens where Carrie suddenly feels unattractive because the men at a construction site don’t whistle and cat-call at her when she walks by. So her husband pays off the guys to demean and objectify her with lewd comments so she can feel better about herself. For the show, it’s just supposed to be comedy, but I know women in real life who feel that way. Like if they don’t get the attention of men, even the cat-call kind, then they feel ugly and unworthy. There is so much wrong with that, I won’t even go into it.

But I hope that my sisters aren’t those kind of women, I hope they feel confident in themselves despite their looks and what men think about them. The fact that all the attention makes Andrea uncomfortable, and the fact that all of them basically ignore that kind of attention instead of smiling and giggling and flirting back is a good sign at least.

Maybe I, as the oldest sister, am not as hot because it leaves me free to kick the asses of the jerks who look at or talk to my sisters the wrong way. The guys aren’t paying attention to me while they’re checking out the other three, so I can quietly come in from the side and roundhouse kick ‘em all in the face.

It’s been a whirlwind folks, busy busy busy (I wrote busty as first, which is actually sorta true too), but I wanted to tell you about my Minneapolis trip before it becomes old news. A long time ago I told Katie of willikat that I’d be out there for four days and would she like to hang out. She said she would, so we emailed for awhile, but never made official plans. At the last minute I also found out that Angie is from the same area and knows willikat. My master plan was to meet both these ladies at one big blogger night of fun, but master plans never work out. So the first thing I did when I got into Minneapolis, while still on the shuttle to my hotel, was text Katie and make lunch plans. Since I didn’t have any work obligations until the next day, I knew it might be my one and only chance to meet her.

I’ve never done an actual blogger meet up before, so I was nervous and excited at the same time. I’m not good at meeting new people, so if I hadn’t have felt like I already knew her, I probably would have made up some excuse about being busy with, um, some work thing I just found out about. But she and I have been reading each other’s blogs for awhile now (what? couple years?) and we have this joke about our ‘parallel’ lives since we have so many odd things in common. Like okay, when we’re making plans for her to pick me up outside my hotel, she tells me she’ll be driving her Elantra. I drive an Elantra. At lunch? We ordered the same thing.

Basically what I’m saying in my rambling way is that I’m a little bit in love with Katie. Whenever bloggers meet, they always report back about how amazing and sweet and spectacular the person they met was, and I’m making no exception. I mean the girl just got laid off from her job and she shows up to lunch in a cute dress and heels. I was looking a little rough in full-on travel mode, just short of a hoodie and flip-flops (see below). We had lunch and gab gab gabbed about all kinds of stuff, then we stopped at a cupcake bakery where I snapped the only two pictures of our visit.

Then she drove me around and showed me the twin cities. She even felt comfortable running an errand while we were out, that’s how tight we are already! Seriously, it was fun. And it made me want to meet more of you. So come on people, let’s work it out!

The rest of my trip was mostly work stuff. I ate well, as is usually the case on business trips, but I didn’t see much of the city. By the time I finished work obligations and dinner with colleagues each day, I was pretty exhausted and ready for bed. Which by the way, sucked. I promised I wouldn’t go into details of the suckiness, but shut up. It was a sleep number bed, which I discovered is nothing more than a glorified air mattress. I spent the first night moving up and down the number scale, unable to sleep. Number 65, try to sleep, too hard. Release some air. Number 50, try to sleep, no good. Release some air. Number 35, try to sleep, too soft. Add some air (which sounds like a jet plane by the way), no good. All. Night. Long. The second and third nights I popped some Excederin PM before bed and slept hard despite the awful mattress. But on the last night I forgot to take the meds, and if I don’t take them before I try to sleep, my body isn’t fooled. I was wide awake, watching bad tv and eating vending machine snacks until a few hours before my shuttle picked me up. I even shaved my legs in the bathtub out of pure boredom at 1:30am. They hadn’t been shaved in, I’d guess, a month or two, so it was nice and time-consuming.

Minneapolis, or what I saw of it, is actually really nice. Their public transportation system is about 823% times better than GR’s, and hello, the skyway. I walked all the way from my hotel to the Convention Center (a 15-20 minute walk) and never once went outside. All Twin Citians are probably laughing at my fascination with this, but seriously, it’s genius. I want to sleep with the skyway it’s that wonderful.

I’ve been busy since the moment I set foot on Michigan soil, but I hope to return to a normal life as soon as possible. Hope you’re still with me!

I’m supposed to be going to this Passion Party tonight. I’m guessing it’s kind of like the popular Pure Romance parties that women like to have. It’s with a fun group of people so it should be a good time, but the problem is that me and parties that specialize in sex products do not get along.

My first Pure Romance party was highly anticipated. I had heard about these parties that sell vibrators and lubricants, and I definitely wanted to be in on that. So when my sister decided to host one, I was eager to attend. I ended up buying about $70 in products, most of which have never been used. One of them, I quickly realized, though it smells and tastes like green apple, is too sticky to use. Another turned out to be effective but inconvenient. I do actually use one product, but only to spray on my chest when my boobs are sweaty in the summer. Hot, I know.

The last product I bought, the most expensive one, was a certain… tool if you will. The consultant raved about it, and my sisters convinced me it was a hundred times better than the current “tool” I owned, so I bought it. As soon as I got it home and turned it on (yes it’s the kind of tool that requires batteries), I discovered it made an unbearable buzzing sound. Not the normal whirring that these tools are supposed to make, but a high-pitched motorized sound. Kind of like a child’s remote control car. There’s no hiding its use from anyone within fifty feet of you. When I’m in the mood to use such a tool, the last thing I want is to conjure up thoughts of children’s toys. It was definitely not going to work for me.

But Pure Romance has a no return policy on such items, which I suppose makes sense, but this tool never even came near any regions that might render it “unclean” or non-refundable. So it sits in my room, in the plastic wrapping, in the original bag it came in. Fifty bucks well spent I’d say.

My next Pure Romance party was a couple weeks ago. Again, it was fun, but this time I was smart and didn’t buy anything. I think a party that’s supposed to celebrate women’s sexuality is a great idea, but when they pass around rubbery tubes that look like a woman’s mouth and nose (um, for men to use in case you didn’t get that) and play a game called “Tic Tac Toe, Give Me a Prize You Skanky Ho” it doesn’t feel very woman-friendly.

I’m not sure how Passion Parties differ from Pure Romance, but I don’t think I want to spend my money on any more products or tools that will go to waste. I should go anyway, for the social aspect, and just pretend like I’m a virgin and don’t condone sins of the flesh. Or something. But there’s so much pressure to buy something, anything, so the hostess doesn’t feel like she made that plate of cheese and crackers for nothing.

I haven’t talked much about who I’m supporting in the election, mostly because I haven’t found the words to say what I want to say. My friends and family know because it’s easier to talk about it endlessly than write it concisely in one post. I do like both Democratic candidates (and get icky feelings in the pit of my stomach from all the possible Republican candidates), but there is one who stands out for me for so many reasons. And finally I found something that says it all. I hope you’ll read it. Even if doesn’t resonate with you, I hope you’ll read it, all of it, with an open mind.

Goodbye to all that (#2) by Robin Morgan

Some of my favorite parts:

Goodbye to the sick, malicious idea that this [the examples she listed] is funny. This is not “Clinton hating,” not “Hillary hating.” This is sociopathic woman-hating. If it were about Jews, we would recognize it instantly as anti-Semitic propaganda; if about race, as KKK poison. Hell, PETA would go ballistic if such vomitous spew were directed at animals. Where is our sense of outrage—as citizens, voters, Americans?

Goodbye to some young women eager to win male approval by showing they’re not feminists (at least not the kind who actually threaten the status quo), who can’t identify with a woman candidate because she is unafraid of eeueweeeu yucky power, who fear their boyfriends might look at them funny if they say something good about her. Goodbye to women of any age again feeling unworthy, sulking “what if she’s not electable?” or “maybe it’s post-feminism and whoooosh we’re already free.” Let a statement by the magnificent Harriet Tubman stand as reply. When asked how she managed to save hundreds of enslaved African Americans via the Underground Railroad during the Civil War, she replied bitterly, “I could have saved thousands—if only I’d been able to convince them they were slaves.”

So listen to her voice: “It is a violation of human rights when babies are denied food, or drowned, or suffocated, or their spines broken, simply because they are born girls. It is a violation of human rights when woman and girls are sold into the slavery of prostitution. It is a violation of human rights when women are doused with gasoline, set on fire and burned to death because their marriage dowries are deemed too small. It is a violation of human rights when individual women are raped in their own communities and when thousands of women are subjected to rape as a tactic or prize of war. It is a violation of human rights when a leading cause of death worldwide along women ages 14 to 44 is the violence they are subjected to in their own homes. It is a violation of human rights when women are denied the right to plan their own families, and that includes being forced to have abortions or being sterilized against their will.”

I’m upset that Michigan broke the rules, and I wasn’t able to express my support for her in the primary. But I really hope I have to opportunity to support her in the general election.

After reading about my sleeping troubles of late, crazy Kelly seems to think that maybe my body is telling me it wants to have babies!

Honestly, this sounds like what started to happen to me when my body betrayed me and suddenly wanted nothing but babies. It was a scary, uncomfortable, feeling, (at first) as I  had planned on being a feminist writer living alone in Manhattan. This nagging suddenly turned into a full blown obsession, shortly after, and you know the rest. Up to my elbows in poppy diapers now.

Interesting (crazy) thought, but I doubt that’s what it is. As we all know by now, I’ve never really had the desire to actually have children, as in birth them. I don’t deny that my body might change it’s mind someday, but I’ve so far been lacking in the female instinct to procreate. But since I do want to adopt children someday, maybe my body is telling me it would rather be awake tending to a toddler than sleeping in the middle of the night. Could Kelly be on to something?

Well if that’s the case body, you’ll just have to ignore that urge because my life soooo isn’t ready for babies right now.

NARAL is asking bloggers to write about why they vote pro-choice. Today is the 35th anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision that legalized abortion. I like what Jessica said about her reasons for voting pro-choice, and she links to a lot of good information, so check it out. But my main reason for voting pro-choice is that I want to make my own decisions about my body. And I believe that all women should have that right.

Some people say that choice should come before the act of making babies. As if once you’ve had sex, you no longer get any say in what happens to you or your body. I think that’s a pretty poor perception of how the world works. People screw up, they make mistakes. Let’s stop trying to pretend like that’s not true, and let’s deal with reality.

Even if you don’t think abortion is “right” or wish women wouldn’t have them, do you really want the government to make that decision? For everyone?

I don’t. Not for me, not for my sisters, not for my (future?) daughters, not for any woman.

Why do you vote pro-choice? Or anti-choice as the case may be.

Yesterday afternoon, Brad emailed me to let me know I had received a package from my dear friend Lauren. A package! So unexpected! I got home in the afternoon, ripped it open, and found this:

I love having awesome friends. When I finish reading it, I’m going to let my dad borrow it. I really think he’d enjoy it, he just doesn’t know it yet. Lauren - you’re the awesomest.

On my wishlist, I have a few books and magazines that are related to feminism. Well holy hell you’d think that was some kind of dirty word! First my dad, who isn’t usually like this, said “Full Frontal Feminism? Bust magazine? Is there a side to you I don’t know about?”

Um, you know I’m a feminist right? Then no, there’s not.

The part that really bothered me though was this portion of the conversation:

Him: Bitch magazine? Couldn’t they have picked something a little softer?
Me: Why does it have to be softer? To make you more comfortable?
Him: Well what’s the male equivalent? Should I start a magazine called Prick?
Me: I hardly think that’s the male equivalent of the word “bitch” Dad.

And when he shared my printed wishlist with my grandparents who asked for ideas, he didn’t give them the first page (which contained the books and magazines). I guess to shield them from the horror and filth that is feminism.

Then a couple days ago, I overheard someone else say, while looking at the list, “I’m definitely not getting her something called Bitch!” I hope she does though. Hey, if you’re reading… it’s actually a pretty good magazine!

Honestly, both of these people were saying these things in jest, and I accepted it as such, but I was caught off guard because I truly didn’t think anything of it when I added them to my list. I mean, I think I added Bitch the same time I added the crock pot and the brown heels.

Oh well, I’ll have to buy Ms. for myself I guess!

Today I just want to share something I read at one my favorite sites. If you were at all interested in the great last name debate from earlier this year (and if you haven’t read it yet, it’s long but it’s good), you should check out the latest from Hollywood. I guess, as a birthday gift to her husband, Sarah Michelle Gellar changed her name, after five years of marriage, to Sarah Michelle Prinze.

I’ll reserve comment, but I really like what Ann had to say, so go one, click it!

It would have been better if Freddie had changed his last name at the same time. Freddie Gellar Jr. Only they wouldn’t know the other one was doing it, so it’d be all Gift of the Magi up in the Gellar/Prinze house. But no, it was only she giving the “gifts” this year.

Not much time today, so I’m glad my friend Jason sent this to me yesterday.

If you’re a curvy woman, you should read it. It tells you that recent research shows you’re “brighter than [your] waif-like counterparts,” which is nice to know. As a matter of fact, the “bigger the difference between a woman’s waist and hips the better.” Turns out my hips are more than just sexay.

However, upon further speculation (meaning I did more than skim like I usually do) I realized that the point of the article is to say that we curvy women may well produce intelligent offspring. Which, okay fine, good to know. But what annoys me is how this is supposed to make us doubly attractive to men.

“Men respond to the double enticement of both an intelligent partner and an intelligent child.”

Gag. I’m not a baby-maker, thank you. If you love my curves because they’re hot, great, I think so too. But if you love them because you think they’ll make you a smart baby someday, fuck off. No babies for you.