Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Thursday, November 13, 2014
(of the negativity cycle surrounding women and their sexuality)
When J.Law and company had their private, nude photos hacked and leaked onto the internet a few months ago, there was some serious anger. Not so much anger at the criminals who hacked into these women’s accounts, violating their basic rights - that’s actually the kind of anger I can get behind. No, the anger that surfaced was toward the victims. Oh sure, it was couched in “concern about internet safety”, but the more honest criticism sounded like: "If you don't want nude photos leaked, don't take nude photos." Right. Like if you don't want to be strangled, don't have a neck.
Interestingly, criticism was mostly a by women, about women kind of thing. Women don't like it when naked ladies go mainstream.
And now, we have Kim Kardashian, and the full frontal heard round the world. Oh yeah, panties are in a tightly wound bunch, so to speak. It is hard to consume any social media without hearing how "Nasty" and "Disgusting" Kim Kardashian is. Again, most of the anger coming from women.
I am not a fan of KK, but I found the picture both interesting and funny. Naked women don't make me angry, but with all the hoo-hah I thought maybe I was missing something, so I considered the criticism....
"She needs to respect her body."
First of all, she doesn't NEED to do anything. She is a grown woman, not breaking any laws. Secondly, I think she is respecting her body. She is not talking smack about it, she is not harming it, and she seems to be celebrating it with pride. Hiding under a hoodie and self-hate doesn't mean you respect your body.
"What about the children!!?"
Yes, with the prevalence of this photo, it is very possibly going to be seen by young eyes. Then again. it is just a woman without clothes. This should really not be scarring. I also heard a mother angry because Kim Kardashian was now a terrible role model. I can honestly say this photo did nothing to change Kim Kardashian's status as a role model in my eyes. If you want a role model for the little ones you love, try Eleanor Roosevelt or Malala Yousafzai.
"She is a mom!!!"
Right, because when you become a mom - that is all you are. Not a celebrity, entrepreneur, lover, or owner of an ass. Again, the picture is not one of KK ripping the wings off bugs; she is not doing anything harmful in these photos. When her kid sees these one day, he will likely roll his eyes and say "Mommmm!" And end of scene.
There is a lot of speculation about surgical enhancements that may have contributed to the striking nature of the photo. I don't know if it is the case or not, and it is really none of my business. People have uniquely shaped bodies and some chose to sculpt their bodies with silicone. Again, no puppies are dying here.
"It is Photoshopped!"
Yes, I am sure it is. That is how magazine art is created. The lighting and make-up are also part of the art of the picture. Kim wasn't just walking around in a sequined gown in her kitchen when she noticed a plain brown backdrop and thought "Hmmm…. I am going to pour myself a glass of champagne!"
It is an illusion; a fantasy. Photoshop is a creative tool. Let's assume all magazine covers are Photoshopped and move on.
"She is doing it for attention!"
Yes, that is what celebrities do.
"It is not classy. It is just trashy."
I get that you feel that way, so you should certainly not pose nude for magazines or balance things on your butt - but please, just zip it. Is it classy to make negative comments about a person’s body or her choice?
"She is just doing it for money. Like she needs it!"
I don't know what Kim Kardashian needs or does not need, but I do know that I would rather pose for pictures where I was compensated and had a choice than have photos stolen from me and published without my consent.
"She is a vapid, no-talent reflection of society's celebrity-mongering."
Maybe. But here we all are - talking about her.
So, since I have not heard a compelling argument about why I should be grossed-out by a naked woman with a big ass in a magazine, I am left to speculate about why many women find this so unsettling.
I don't know the answers to any of these questions. All I know is that balancing cups on your ass is hard, and I need another coffee.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
|Faked you out again with the picture,|
no diet tips in this blog.
I yelled at my kids, I was a jerk to my husband, and I was unproductive and lethargic when I was taking breaks from being mean. I recognized my behavior as crazy town, I did. But there was also nothing I could do about it, I just could not figure out why I was feeling this way.
But...here is what else happened to me.
I received several online threats - nasty ones. Ones talking about my kids. Ones saying I look "easy to rape". Horrific threats. Curl-your-toes atrocious. From strangers.
I also received menacing comments from my husband's ex sister-in-law. This is not a woman who has ever met me, or even spoken to me, but has still found it in her heart to say terrible things about me to anyone who will listen. This woman actually called my minister to make threatening remarks and defame my character. She is teeming with rage against me. Apparently, she is also an online follower of mine and left a comment on social media that was just odd enough, and threatening enough, to make me wonder about her sanity and her intentions. It scared me.
Then, my neighbor and I had an exchange where he ended up hitting me hard with his shoulder and I hit him back. Inexplicably, only I was arrested and taken away. The police took me in without ever taking a statement from me. I was confused, I was powerless, I was treated like a second class citizen in this situation. The police took action before knowing the whole situation.
I felt unsafe. I felt unjustly persecuted. I felt targeted, and I felt powerless.
I felt a small piece of what it means to live in a world where you are marginalized and vulnerable. I tasted a bit of what it might be like to be a woman in the middle east, or a Mexican in a border state, or a black person in Ferguson, MO.
As a white privileged woman in America, I rarely have the opportunity for this kind of perspective.
It sucks. A lot.
It sucks for me and everyone I came in contact with.
The stress and anxiety also prevented me from eating and I lost 10lbs.
Then the comments started. "You look great! So skinny! What have you been doing?"
Losing my mind. That is what I had been doing. The comment "You look great" shocked me. I am as raw and distressed as I have ever been. Nothing about me felt great, but that apparently does not matter. I was manipulating my body to be small, and whatever price I was paying was irrelevant. Hooray or me!
When things like this happen, it is time to reevaluate. Is losing weight the most praiseworthy thing I can do? When we encounter someone, do we always evaluate their size status? Are we so entrenched in the thin ideal that we notice it above all else?
I had a very special teacher in high school, her name was Dr. Cote. She seemed to know me very well. I don't know how, but she did. I kept a relationship with her after high school and she always seemed to notice that for me, losing weight usually meant feeling kind of sad. Not always - she looked closely enough to know the difference between me feeling great and fit - and me getting small inexplicably. She noticed and she cared. She stands out in my mind because she is the only one who looked deeper than simply just me losing weight. When everyone else congratulated me, she looked further. She is no longer living, and a woman like that is a huge loss to the world.
Maybe the 'end all/be all' is not about shedding pounds. Maybe rapid weight loss is not the holy grail we think it is; maybe it is sign that something is not going well - in our bodies, in our minds, in our society.
I am making my way back to strength and well-being. I am consciously eating foods that will give my body what it needs. I am getting it together and trying to be healthy, if not thin. When I get there, I will more genuinely appreciate the compliment "You look great".
Monday, November 3, 2014
Our neighbors moved in almost three years ago. Most of this time, they have kept to themselves; regardless I thought we had a nice relationship. When they had a baby, I bought them a welcoming gift of a cute little baby hat (because nothing’s cuter than a baby in a hat) and I made them lasagna. Once we rode together to a school function. We were always friendly.
The woman of the house was lovely, if not very reclusive. The man of the house, however, has always given me the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was the amount of tension in his face as he closely watched his wife speak. Maybe it was the way he only grunted and looked away when neighbors said hello. Or maybe it was the way he kept his lawn and grounds so intensely manicured and meticulously perfect - the kind of perfect you only get with a psychiatric diagnosis. Maybe it was all the times we realized he had been standing right next to us, quietly, out of sight, just on the other side of his fence, whenever we were in the backyard. Or maybe it was the way he sat in his backyard and continuously stared at my sister and her friends every time they went swimming in the pool last summer.
At any rate, I just assumed the family were not into socializing or having anyone over. Ever. Still, I invited them to our re-wedding in August. They did not respond to our invitation and they did not show up to the wedding, but just after 8:00pm when my husband/editor and I were having our first dance, the police showed up. The man had apparently called the police. The officers and I had a pleasant exchange and they ultimately agreed they saw no reason why they should have been called, and left.
Shortly after, a few guests, which included a 17-year-old young man, stood chatting on my lawn in front of my house. The 17-year-old was appreciating and commenting on the neighbor's car, when we heard something rarely uttered here in the Northeast: the command “Git!” (as in “Git out of here!”). My neighbor shouted “Git! Git! Git!” as he ran over to our guests. The 17-year-old, in disbelief, asked "Are you talking to me?"
My neighbor (let's just call him Mr. Git) shouted: "Take your bitches and get out!" Now, since one of those so-called "bitches" happened to be the young man’s mother, the young man told Mr. Git to kindly fuck off.
Mr. Git shouted back: "I'll fuck your mother!".
Yes, that was actually said, in anger, on my front lawn, on my re-wedding day.
A growingly nervous mother sent the 17-year-old back into our home. Mr. Git then announced that he had a Glock inside his house. His wife appeared at their front door and begged him to come inside. Mr. Git shouted “Shut Up!” and she quickly retreated.
Again and again Mr. Git made it very clear to our guests that he had a Glock and he was from Florida and so everyone better stay off his property. He seemed to be under the impression that his Floridian heritage allowed him to shoot our guests from his front lawn. Now kids, this level of crazy goes beyond what I’m normally accustomed to. This isn’t fun crazy. This is dangerous crazy.
So I was glad when the cops showed up again around 10pm.
However, this second encounter with the police was very different. When the officers approached I told them I was glad to see them and told them about the neighbor threatening a boy with a gun.
But the officer was very irritated. He said: "I will decide what we are talking about. You need to turn down the music." I said "Ok, but can I make a statement about what I consider to be a dangerous situation?" At that point, the officer asked to speak with the man of the house. I said "Sure, let me just travel back in time to 1950". I was laughing. “You can talk to me.”
Instead of discussing the incident, the officer and I went through a sort of power exchange tango. Since it was my wedding and I was the one in the white dress, I grew frustrated with the lack of progress and left to rejoin the party. The cops remained in the front yard interviewing our guests and talking to the neighbors. And they stayed there, in front of our wedding ceremony, for over an hour. Since they were kind of harshing the vibe of our wedding, I returned to the front yard and said: “This is enough. You have been here a very long time and we are done.” The office ordered: “You stand over there.” I said: “I am standing over here, on my property, but if you are not detaining me, then it is time for you to leave." The officer asked: “Do you know what I can do to you?”
That’s a fear-based threat, kids, and I was feeling neither protected nor served.
I repeated my request for the police to leave or detain me. More words were exchanged, one of us puffed out his chest, and the discussion was becoming increasingly stand-offish until the good cop (there’s always one, isn’t there?) stepped between us, telling his partner to go to the car. The angry cop remained in the car for a long time before getting out and writing me a “disturbing the peace” ticket for $133.00. I thanked them and he finally left, though he was still visibly irritated.
The next day I went to the police station. I was overwhelmed. Why the neighbor hate? Why were the police so abrasive? Why the apparent misogynistic attitude from the police? Would I be able to feel safe living next to Mr. Git and his Glock?
I also wanted to talk to someone about the possibly misogynistic officer who demanded to speak to my husband. I asked the officer on duty to place a report of my complaint in the officer’s file. The officer on duty told me that would not happen because: “if the officer misspoke, it would have been an isolated incident.”
But how could he (or anyone) know it was isolated, with their apparent policy of refusing to file complaints?
“Look, if it’s isolated, then nothing will ever come of it - but if it is a pattern, let's start documenting it. Anyone with a regular job can get negative feedback documented. What makes the police so – ?”
The officer interrupted: “I am not playing this game. You are not in a grocery store!”
Look, if you read this blog regularly you know that I’m an instigator. But I also have big love and respect for cops as a whole (my daddy was a cop - a good one). But everyone is accountable. Everyone.
More visits to the police station, more debates, and finally resolution – they reluctantly agreed to enter my complaint in the officer’s file.
In truth I expected some backlash. I expected to get pulled over more frequently. However I did not expect what happened this morning.
This morning I was wrangling a gaggle of kids into the car for church when I noticed an enormous semi-truck completely blocking my driveway exit to the street (I am pretty sure this is not legal, and at the very least it is rude without asking). I went next door and knocked. I was surprised to see the mover answer the door.
“Can you please move your truck so I can get out and get my kids to church?” The mover said: "Look lady, we block driveways all the time.” I was surprised by his answer, so I asked again. He replied: “If I move my truck I’ll just back it up so it blocks your driveway even more.”
Wow. And that was from a total stranger.
The woman who lives in the house came to the door and said "Karen, you block our driveway all the time." Which seems highly unlikely since we only have one car and our own driveway - which easily holds four cars.
But instead of addressing the questionable plausibility of her claim I simply said: "I am sorry if that has ever happened and if you let us know we will always move our cars as soon as possible."
Next I hear Mr. Git running down the stairs screaming “What is SHE doing here?”. I backed up, deciding to return to my kids. When Mr. Git reached the door, his wife, now pregnant with their third baby, whispered: “Please don't go out.”
Mr. Git grabbed his wife's head and pushed it violently down, jumping past her, flying down his front porch stairs, and running at me fast. He put his finger right up into my face and screamed: “You have one minute to get off my property!”
I raised both hands into the air, took a step backward from the finger in my face, and said: “I just need the truck moved.” He kept threateningly close. My dog was near us, barking. He chased after the little dog, shouting: “I’ll shut you up for good!” He called me a fucking bitch and a cunt. He kicked the dog. My dog yelped and ran away. Mr. Git then quickly returned, and we were face to face again.
He shoulder-chucked me hard, really hard. It knocked the breath out of my lungs. I stepped back, and Mr. Git stepped in.
If you read my blog, you know I believe there is never a good reason to use force. I teach this to my kids all the time. But the enraged Mr. Git just hurt his pregnant wife, just kicked my dog, and just hit me hard. I don’t believe in violence, but I also don’t believe in just sitting there and taking abuse.
I shouted: "Oh no you didn't!" and I hit Mr. Git’s shoulder, clearly surprising him, and knocking him back.
Mr. Git suddenly turned and ran into his house. With all the rage on display, I wondered if he might be going for his Glock. Deciding that I didn’t really want to find out what item he was rushing in to get, I shoveled the kids into the car, drove over our lawn and off the curb, and off to safety. I needed a little church and a little distance.
I called 911 on my way, mostly because my heart was heavy with the idea that I possibly sent the bundle-of-rage that is Mr. Git back into his house with only the pregnant wife there to process his anger. I found myself wishing Mr. Git had just punched me in the face so he would be arrested and out of the house, which might offer his wife and her babies some protection.
I relayed my concern to 911 about Mr. Git’s aggressive behavior with his wife, but 911 was more interested in knowing what vehicle I was driving and what road I was on so they could “send a car for me”. I said: “I am leaving a volatile situation and taking my kids to church. I will be back home in two hours.”
911 continued to press: “What vehicle are you driving and what church are you going to?” I answered: “I am in a minivan and going to church in a building.” The 911 officer was getting angry: "Look, we are going to get you on the road or at church." I explained: “I realize this was not what you want, but I need to get my children - some of whom are still crying - away and to a safe place.”
I needed for everything to calm down.
At church, I maintained my cool long enough to get the kids to their classes. And then I had a little breakdown, spending the next hour trying to regain composure. After church, the 911 officer phoned me. He told me he needed to talk to me in person. I asked if we could have a phone conversation. He was angry: “Absolutely not. If there is something more important you have to do, I can just arrest you and it will be up to the judge to decide your bond.”
I was a little surprised. “What would the charge be?” The officer said: “I am not going to discuss this with you.” I said: “I think I have a right to know what I could be charged with.” The officer disagreed. He seemed as indignant as a parent realizing that “because I said so” was no longer working.
Then, as if in an echo from police visits past, he threatened: “Do you know what I can do to you?”
I calmly answered: “Yes, I understand you have power over me and you would like me to acknowledge that power by doing exactly what you say.”
Then, because I have a father who explained to me when I was little that cops often have issues with power and that they do not like to be questioned because there are situations where loss of control can be lethal, I told him I would be home in 30 minutes and would talk to him then.
Shortly after I arrived home, three police vehicles pulled up in front of my house and five officers put me in handcuffs, arresting me in front of my children.
So, that was fun.
At the police station, they discovered I was not a clear and present danger, just a mom trying to put distance between her family and a rage-filled man with a Glock.
Oh and kids, the man who threatened my guests, attacked his wife, kicked my dog and hit me received no charges whatsoever and was not arrested.
On the other hand, I was charged with trespassing, breaching the peace and assault.
After two hours at the police station, I was released on my own recognizance. Apparently moms of seven are a very low flight risk (sigh).
Things I Learned From Getting Arrested Today
1. Talk to your neighbors when you are frustrated.
Good God, if Mr. Git had just come over and chatted about whatever was irritating him, this never would have happened. Don't call the police when you have a gripe with your neighbor - just tell your neighbor and ask for change. I thought this one was obvious.
2. Even if authorities are angry and threatening, listen to your instincts to protect your family.
I now have a rap sheet, which is kind of cool, even though it may destroy my chances of ever going back to teaching, but I do not regret any of my choices. The officer later told me: “You should have stayed there and called the police. We can get there quickly.” But the consequence of waiting to see what Mr. Git was going to carry from his home could have been much worse. Guns and the threat of weapons up the anti on risk, and if I had stayed and brought harm to my family, well, that would be incredibly hard to live with.
3. Cops are control freaks.
But, maybe that makes sense. Custodians or house cleaners may have OCD, but that just helps them do their job.
4. People in power want to stay in power.
There are parallels between the cops needing me to validate their place in the power structure (and threatening me when their authority was challenged) and the threats and hate mail I receive after questioning the authority of others.
When I call myself a feminist or spread thoughts that upset the current order, those with privilege - those who have the most to lose - are the ones most likely to threaten or try to shut me up.
And yes, sometimes they ask if I know what they are capable of doing to me.
5. Stupid sexism is alive and well.
My husband is not my father, and I just checked the calendar again - we do not live in feudal times. I am a grown woman who speaks for herself. When I point out to officers just how ridiculous it is to ask for the “man in charge” (instead of simply talking to me), they must feel a little stupid. And if they have any power, calling them out on their sexism is risky, because they're much more inclined to use their power against you.
6. Domestic violence is also alive and well.
And it’s hard to detect when those who are being abused refuse to speak. My pregnant neighbor denied that her husband assaulted her. We all need to be better at saying something when we see something.
I called a woman's hotline today to report what I saw.
7. When people in authority have no accountability, it is terrifying.
Police officers pulled my arms behind my back and forcefully closed handcuffs tightly over my wrists (ouch). I was stripped of my physical freedom at my home, and in front of my children, without ever having an opportunity to make a statement or to explain to the officers what happened. I was cooperative, peaceful and respectful. Unfortunately my request to be taken in without handcuffs was rejected.
And earlier, when I went to the police station to share my concerns about possible 1950's style sexism, I was essentially told (again and again) that police officers are beyond criticism.
I liked it much better when I felt safe.
There’s a chance my arrest made the rage-filled Mr. Git feel powerful. If so, I’m okay with that, because I worry about what might happen to his wife if Mr. Git ever felt emasculated or powerless. That might be the most dangerous situation of all.
That might be the most dangerous situation of all.
Monday, October 27, 2014
|Freedom is a beautiful thing|
We are almost always too fat – unless we cross over and become “disgustingly thin” or a “skinny bitch”.
We are expected to behave, and we hear these commands all the time:
"Don't be pushy!"
"Don't be too loud!"
"You are too opinionated!"
"Act like a lady!"
Wait, are those last four said only to me? No, I’m pretty sure they are universal.
We are constantly under observation:
"Sure, she lost some weight, but now her face sags."
"I think she has had some work done."
"She has cankles and her left eye is lazy."
From where I sit, women can't win for losing. This goes double for moms:
"I don't know why she even had kids if she is never home."
"She just lets those kids walk all over her."
"She is a mess! If you can't handle the stress, don't have kids!"
Talking about not being able to win for losing, try that, women. Try not having kids. That will surely keep all that criticism off your ass.
Oh wait - no it won't.
You want to open yourself up to a huge stinking pile of judgment? Just be a childless female over 30. Even worse, a married childless female over 30. A woman who chooses not to have a child.
I have never been a childless female over 30, so I am not speaking from experience. But, I can tell you that I have never heard anything good offered up about women who exercise their right to live their life in a way that suits them.
I can also tell you that whenever I meet a woman who has chosen not to have children, she confesses that right away. Sometimes she will share this information apologetically, sometimes with a bit of compensating bravado, and sometimes just as a warning or heads-up that I may find her pristine ovaries all too much and take leave of her company forthwith.
Women would not be so preemptively defensive if they didn't all get a ton of shit for not having a kid.
This steaming pile of shit we dump on childless women is crazy for so many reasons, I feel compelled to enumerate them in my new blog segment, aptly titled:
WHY GIVING WOMEN SHIT FOR NOT HAVING BABIES
IS ONE OF THE MOST FUCKED-UP THINGS
YOU CAN DO
This title makes me happy.
1. It is their body, their life and their choiceThat's right people, women are actually autonomous creatures with lots to offer the world besides their uteruses. They are not extensions of a man who can breed with them; they are not cattle impregnated for the good of the farm; they are not the unpaid nannies of the world, continuing the species, alone, on their exhausted shoulders.
They are humans, living in a society and oh so very capable of personal choice.
2. OverpopulationSeriously folks, before you start laying into people about how "they must experience children, for they are God's gift" - try remembering that God has been a little too generous with the gifts when we consider what the planet can sustain. God is like the uncle who brings us a puppy and a drum set. They seem like a good idea, but we have no place to put the drum set and now we have to feed and care for the puppy. We need fewer gifts please, God.
Players all be like:
"Have a baby! Have a baby! Have a baby!"
"Girl, why you have a baby when you can't take care of it!??!!!"
Can't win for losing.
4. Babies Kind of SuckYou know, I love me some babies. I am a total addict; I always need to hold them –I will even ask complete strangers if I can hold their babies. And thank God I have a fertile family that pops those little poopers out every few years because there is nothing better than baby head smell.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
If I start my day off eating sugary cereal "because goddammit - it is Halloween" and "I cannot live without me Boo Berry Crunch" [Editor’s note: read like a pirate].
Then, for the rest of the day, I am all like: "Fuck it, not going to Yoga - I ate Boo-berry Crunch. You know what? Screw brushing my teeth, I am going to let the flavor linger! Hey! Pass me those s'mores - I need a Boo-berry Crunch chaser."
Seriously, all it takes is one wrong turn and I’m suddenly Forrest Gump runnin’ down the road to Unwellsville.
This compulsive disregard for my health is clearly among the stupidest things I do (of which there is a tough competition brewing for that number-one spot).
So why would I, a girl who normally acts with thoughtful intent, do this to myself? If my kids said to me: "It's okay Mom, I can have Cheez-Its - I already drank a Coke!" I would be all swivel-headed-finger waving: "Oh no you didn't just say that to me!" There is no way I would support the kind of thinking that leaves you powerless to turn yourself around and get it together.
I do this to myself. We do this to ourselves. We give up on taking the best care of ourselves and totally let go. Why? How can we stop? Look, I don't know! If I knew, I wouldn't have such a Boo-berry Crunch problem!!!
But, I do know one thing: If you don't like yourself, you won't take care of yourself.
Think about it, when you are driving a new car, all fresh and exciting, you love it. You clean it all the time, you buy scented car organizers, you get a custom brush and spray for polishing the dash.
But when you are driving your 10-year-old minivan with the massive scrapes on the side caused by your 16-year-old "emerging driver" - with a worn vinyl interior that has long since given up - you just decide to eat like a cookie monster in that thing. Crumbs everywhere? You don't care! Driving down the road with a megaphone, shouting: "You really wanna test me, huh? You really wanna go? Hit me! I dare you! … Gimme cookie!!!!"
You don't take care of what you don't like.
And conversely, if you like something, it is natural for you to take care of it. When you are loving yourself and feeling good about yourself, you make wise choices. Start the day with exercise or checking things off your list, and you’ll continue to honor and be kind to yourself throughout the day.
Think about it: it is easier to motivate yourself to clean house when it is already essentially clean. When you walk in to your kitchen and find evidence the Tasmanian Devil has wrestled with a Slurpy machine, and lost, you are more likely to throw your bags on the counter, contribute to the mess, and ignore it a while longer. It’s hard to show TLC to a kitchen when your feet are sticking to the floor. On the other hand, when you have been loving and taking care of your kitchen, you walk in, put everything away, maybe wipe down the counter again just to see it sparkle - you treat THAT kitchen like a precious gem.
So, this self-bashing thing we do? Counter productive. When you are hating on yourself, saying: "Boo Berry Crunch? Really? What are you, six years old? Forget it! You can't even take care of yourself!!!" (I know this seems like excessive breakfast conversation – but, trust me, it can happen). When you are all straight-up meanie pants to yourself - then of course you are not going to dote on yourself. You are kind of pissed at you. Why should you care what you do?
Drink tequilla! Don't buckle up! Yolo!
So, my friends, if you are not liking yourself - fake it. Brush and floss. Spend time making your hair look great. Take a long walk in a gorgeous place. Start taking really good care of yourself and you will start to love yourself - as if you were that scrappy little orphan kitten you nursed when it was a baby. Oh, how could you not love little Scrappy? It was up to you to care for him - and we always love what we take care of.
In the space between taking care of yourself and hating yourself, when you are teetering between all or nothing - always go for the all. If you can't do that, something is better than nothing, even faking it.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
That's right, girls are getting hazed and shamed. They are being kicked out of proms, made to wear scarlet letter suits, and are being called skanks by those in authority – the same teachers and administrators we trust to take care of our girls
This is not so different from the public humiliation (and sometimes beatings) the Taliban forces onto women refusing to wear burqas, my friends.
How many young women need to be humiliated and left in tears before we collectively say “Knock it off!”? It’s time we stop making teenage bra straps a political issue.
To be clear, I like dress codes and I enforce them in my home. I talk to my kids about the messages their clothes send to the world and I talk to them about who they want to be and who they want to look like. I support school uniforms for schools deciding they need them.
I do not, however, support bullshit.
And, make no mistake: dress codes are increasingly becoming an excuse for sexualizing women and disgracing young girls for the apparent pleasure of those in power. It’s bullshit.
So, people in positions of authority over young people: I will kindly ask you to just stop.
“Stop what?” you ask? I’m so happy you asked for clarification. Here it is:
1) Stop humiliating our daughters.Yes, humiliating them. Stop pulling them out of a group to shame them. Stop conducting the "inspections" in front of others. Stop asking them to bend over so everyone can see how short their skirts are. These are young women - not your playthings. And the claim that you "just want them to respect themselves" feels disingenuous when you treat them like cattle for sale. Just stop it.
And don't give me the old "Dress codes apply to both boys and girls" argument.
No they fucking don't and you know it.
The boys in this situation were not sent home, made to put on different clothes, or singled out at a school assembly. Their only consequence: they were respectfully asked if they could adhere to the school’s dress code in the future. Nice. By the way kids, this is the way violations should be handled, regardless of gender.
My 16-year-old son regularly violates the dress code at his school, and is repeatedly vocal to teachers and administrators that no dress code consequences will come his way because he is a boy. So far he is right.
It is about curves and boobs and legs and butts - on girls. It is a gender issue, so stop the bullshit.
2) Stop micro-managing decency.The newest items to be flagged for dress code persecution are leggings and yoga pants.
What the fuck is that all about?
First of all, I have yoga pants that happen to be indiscernible from dress pants. I have one kid who is so skinny that leggings look like regular pants, and I have another with legs so muscular they can only fit into pants made out of stretchy material. Soooooooo..... what is this rule about, exactly? The shape of the pant? The fit? The material? Aren't we getting a bit ridiculous here? Are teachers now going to perform cotton/spandex ratio checks? Stitching/seam/pocket checks? This is getting weird.
Leggings are comfy and good for everyone, even those with tricky figures (hence my personal collection of Ray Liotta yoga pants). Leggings and yoga pants actually provide pretty good skin coverage. So why are we banning them again? Is it because someone has decided they are sexy, and so now we are sexualizing all those who wear them? Don't strip us of our precious yoga pants. We need them.
This inspires an “I'll show you” attitude; students will find a way to wear something that covers head to toe and isn't technically see-through (but kind of is… but not… but yes…). Rigid rules invite rebellion.
3) Stop teaching our sons they are powerless.Although dress code restrictions and consequences don't seem to ever apply to boys, the reason behind them certainly does. Most dress codes are put into place for the purpose of making sure the animalistic boys don't get distracted.
There are so many ways in which this is wrong. Let's cover the top three:
First, why why why do we think so little of our boys? What are they? Crazy unbalanced aggressors on the precipice of reaching a sexy-time frenzy the moment a female’s lower limbs enter their sight?
Are they so unable to handle life that the sight of a bra strap might render them incapable of learning, or even functioning?
Seriously. Boys know girls have legs. And shoulders. Let's give them some credit.
Second, ripping dress-code-violating girls out of class and sending them home prioritizes the rights of the boys (to learn without "distractions") over the rights of girls (to simply attend school). Shouldn’t we hold the rights of our young girls to attend school just as sacredly as we do for our boys?
Third, any policy that delivers humiliating messages to females (while being completely silent to males) sends a strong message to both genders that men are weak (and must be protected and cannot be held responsible for their actions). And if men are not responsible for their actions, who are? Well, by process of elimination, it must be the women.
So when schools enforce dress codes through humiliation, what they are really doing is indoctrinating our young men and women into a mindset that is remarkably harmonious with rape culture.
It seems we have some baggage to unpack here.
Speaking of which...
4) Stop putting YOUR baggage on our kids.If you’re a school administrator or teacher and you get turned-on or flustered by an insufficient amount of cloth between you and a budding teenage girl – I suggest reevaluating yourself - not the school policy. Or maybe you should consider a different career, far far away from the schools that hold our vulnerable boys and girls.
Your boner, your problem.
5) Stop thinking this is yours to control.Public school is where the dress code drama is playing out. Public school is obligated to provide an education to all. Even to those in booty shorts.
Seriously, what is the ultimate repercussion? Are we really going to kick out those who don't comply? You can make suggestions, but ultimately, I don't think it makes sense to expel someone over a few inches of cloth.
I guess you could always just participate in revisionist history and photoshop all students to conform to your idea of what they need to look like, as a school in Utah did. Of course, they only manipulated photos of girls in the yearbook.
Ultimately, I am the parent. It is up to me to explain that the real problem with short shorts is that your sweaty thighs rub against the seat where other sweaty thighs have rubbed. That is super yucky and we all need to agree that dress codes protecting us from the ravages of unbridled thigh sweat are good.
But dress codes with no foundation in safety, which allow school authorities to feel superior as they target and shame the girls, are bad.