Reflections on Pubic Hair

I'm reading this because I heard about it on Fresh Air with Terry Gross. The interview was absolutely hilarious and reminded me why I love Betty Friedan and will always claim to be a feminist, no matter how unpopular.

Because -- let's get one thing straight -- I am a woman and I am fond of all the perks that come with suffrage and the feminist movement.

• Voting. And being able to vote different from my husband if I so wish.
• Birth control -- like the PILL and my beloved RING and IUDs and all that loveliness.
• Reproductive control -- like family planning, i.e., not having children after 9 years of marriage.
• Vagina entry rights -- like not being forced to have sex with my husband because I'm considered his property; rape of any kind being illegal is pretty important to me.
• Driving a car.
• Dyeing my hair any color I please and not being seen as a trollop.
• The right to get divorced and have a life after that divorce.
• Not wearing a corset. And sometimes not wearing a bra.

And on and on.

Of course, regardless of how "in touch" I am with my whole being a woman and feeling comfortable being a woman and all the ra-ra-women-are-awesome feelings I have, Caitlin Moran makes some good points about silly things we women do for society or men or a male dominated society. Things which we aren't even aware of being "sexist" or purported by males and then adopted by us females because, let's face it, we still live in a society where no woman has ever been president and Hilary Clinton still gets called a "bitch" and "feminist" is still a word that conjures up images of un-shaved armpits and the possibility of (shh) lesbianism. And just in case you think that we're still not the mysterious (read: witch) OTHER (read: lesser) sex, read this.

So I'm reading "How to Be a Woman" and I come to the chapter "I Become Furry!" in which Moran posits that we women have become addicted to shaving/waxing our pussies completely free of hair because of pornography. According to Moran, pornography sets up our socio-sexual norm and because most kids learn about sex from porn/media, we all grew up seeing either hairless vag in the pornos or hearing about hairless vag from our friends. 

I started chopping my furry muff down to size around the age of 13. I don't know why I started doing this; I'm sure from some shame/puberty/changing-body-anxiety reason. And then of course I started dancing and that meant leotard sans underwear 4 nights a week. God forbid I be one of those girls the other girls made fun of because of (ewww!) pubes. So I started shaving my bikini line. And once I was in high school, I just started shaving all of it off -- too much potential for pube seeing when changing in between dance numbers and for plays. And besides "everyone was doing it." I imagine it was much the same for you too. 

Now, I'm not saying I agree with Moran's desire that we all have "big furry minges" and lie around in hammocks finger-combing our "Wookiees" until the "minge fro" is bouffy and "you can gently bounce the palm of your hand off it, as if it were a tiny hair trampoline." 

But I do like this idea:

"Walking around a room, undressed, in front of appreciative eyes, the reflection in the mirror shows ... a handful of darkness between your legs. Half animal, half secret -- something to be approached with a measure of reverence."

Ooo. Sexy, right? Powerful natural woman. 

I very briefly thought about growing mine back. 

Isn't that great literature? It's making me THINK about habitual actions previously un-dissected.

But here are my reasons why, after much thought, I'm NOT growing it back.

1. I never really liked it. I don't think it was due to some societal pressure, but just because I, as a human being, am not fond of body hair. I have very little and so to have pubes just seemed weird.
2. I, like all true feminists, will do as I please. After all, the feminist movement is about CHOICE. It doesn't matter what anyone says about why I do what I do, I like not having any hair down there.
3. I don't get rid of my hair out of a desire to be more sexually appealing. I (that's right, me) like the clean look of it. And the clean smell of it. 
4. It's not as if I'm completely hairless and my husband is a disgusting hairy beast who expects me to be hairless. It's personal preference that we both be nice and tidy. (TMI?) 

I think this is a generational thing. And I actually think it's something that we women started. It may have begun with male-dominated porno industry shaving, but once adopted by real world women, we started expecting our men to be smoother than before and trim their own bush. So really, in a roundabout way, pubic hair maintenance by both men and women is just feminism at work. 

Pubic hair is just a sign of the times, and my friends, they are always a-changin'. 

Someday we may be "soooo uncool" with our hairless wackies.

It Started With ...

So I'll tell you a story. At the bright age of 12 I was allowed to start wearing makeup. It didn't take long for me to discover that even mascara could not change my straight straight straight eyelashses into model-long curls. Thus began a decade long struggle with curlers, smudges, types of mascara, and a general loathing of my eyelashes.

So about 6 months ago I noticed that my chosen brand of super-curling-waterproof-blackest-black mascara by Maybelline was disappearing off the shelves. It was getting harder and harder to find. I realized too late that it was being discontinued -- couldn't find it ANYWHERE and couldn't buy it online straight from the manufacturer either -- so late was my discovery of the discontinuation. I mean, was I being an idiot? Yes, I was in denial.

So now I have this horrible dilemma where I'm absolutely out of MY mascara. And that begins my search for an alternative. I do extensive mascara research (Googling "mascara curling Asians" hoping for a tried-and-true Asian-approved mascara). I try every kind of curling mascara at Sephora. They all suck. Within hours, nay, minutes(!) my eyelashes are failing to look skyward but droop like Snuffleupagus. Hideous.

So I now begin researching eyelash extensions. I investigate eyelash salons. Look into eyelash types of curls, lengths, brands, etc. I post on FB, asking for my lady friends' opinions and get a slew of "NO!" and "YES!" and "My friend does them for $1!"      <-- not exactly but you get the idea.

So I end up getting eyelash extensions. After 2 hours and 15 minutes in the chair, I know -- without a doubt -- they are the most wonderful things to ever happen to my eyes. I love love love them. I look wide awake and glamorous all.the.time! The only downside is ... wait for it ... they hit my glasses. They flutter up and down so beautifully and then snag on my glasses. This is as annoying as shit.

So yesterday I went to the optometrist and got contacts. Victory! I managed to overcome my fear of things near/in my eye and put the gooey orb in and out of my eyeball. As Tom says, "I'm becoming a grown up."

Why am I telling you this story? So you can see how one small change brings about big change, brings growth, opens you up to new possibilities and new experiences you never thought you'd embark on.

Be brave.

Make changes.

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Hey ... Eat!

We eat out often. A lot more than we should but with only two people in the house, it's so darn easy.

Unfortunately, most places have limited options for a vegetarian and those options sometimes aren't too healthy. I try to make good decisions wherever we go (although occasionally the fries are calling too loudly) but even if I try to make a healthy choice, the choice isn't always there. I wish all fast food restaurants would start carrying healthy salads and start encouraging people to make lifestyle changes because there are times when you're on the go and you need food fast. But it shouldn't have to be shit. Wendy's has done a great job trying to make the combo meal healthier. You'll see from the list below that I do end up getting bean burritos, which aren't super fantastic -- but beans do have protein! I actually think the worst part of a burrito is the tortilla, which is why I love Taco Time's veggie burrito; they use whole wheat.

Anyway, we gotta keep trying! Fight the bulge!

For your enjoyment, a list of the items I order when we patronize fast food joints:

• In-N-Out: grilled cheese ... and fries
• Burger King: veggie burger
• Wendy's: berry almond salad (new item!) and baked potato
• Carl's Jr: IF they have a Green Burrito branch -- bean and cheese burrito, if not -- Diet Coke
• Taco Time: veggie burrito
• Taco Bell: cheesy bean & rice burrito or potato tacos
• DelTaco: veggie works burrito
• Cafe Rio: veggie salad or single cheese enchilada or quesadilla with black beans ... and chips and salsa
• Noodles & Co: thai curry soup
• Rubio's: fish tacos or big burrito especial sans meat
• Rumbi: brown rice bowl with tofu
• Sonic: Diet Pepsi
• McDonald's: Asian salad (if they have it)
• Greek Souvlaki: greek salad, hold the onions and olives
• Panda Express: fried rice with mixed veggies and spring rolls
• KFC: Diet Pepsi
• Subway: veggie footlong on wheat with avocado

What to Wear

I've been thinking for several years that I need to establish a "style." Mine is already fairly steady; lots of tailored '50sish things paired with ruffly fluffy fun things. But I hate waking up and feeling like I don't know what to wear. And standing in front of my closet, naked, trying to pick out an outfit while the clock ticks on and I become later and later to whatever event it is that I'm trying to get dressed for. Of course, the problem with making a style for yourself is that you may end up limiting your wardrobe choices. I mean, I already don't wear brown -- with the exception of one fabulous dress that I bought years ago at Ross for like $17. (Totally worth it; I have paired the dress with different fun shoes and worn it to many parties.) But once again, I'm starting to come around to the idea that looking chic is easier when it's effortless and thoughtless, when your pieces fit together easily and you can just grab and go.

While researching, I ran across this handy guide @ Real Simple and it was inspiring. Everything on the basics list looked so attainable. And using this equally handy checklist, I am now in the process of deducing what will be the new ME style. I'm thinking lots of black basics paired with bright colorful accessories with some fabulous shirts/skirts/dresses thrown in with the lot. Also, I think it's time to invest in less black footwear and more colors and prints. On a Wednesday I might wear black dress pants, black cardigan, and black camisole punched up with a bright coral scarf around my neck to work. Then, when going out on the weekend I'd wear, say, dark jeans with pink pumps and a black t-shirt with a pink flower pin -- matching the shoes, of course. My goal is to simplify my choices and make it so everything pieces together effortlessly. The simplicity will make me look fabulous everywhere I go and make everyone I meet say, "I love what you're wearing."

Duvet Decision

Everyone knows that I love nothing more than new bedding.

My old duvet is ready for an overhaul.

Help me make up my mind and share your thoughts on these beauties.



#1: How beautiful is this! Navy with a bright floral.



#2: A chic zen leafiness.

#3: My walls are yellow; wouldn't my bedroom be so sunny?

#4: Not sure if this has enough color, but the pattern is beautiful.

#5: Similar to numero dos, very calm and peaceful.

Do Over

Time to start again.
Time to restate goals.
Time to kick my own ass.

My ten year high school reunion is coming up at the end of June. I had set goals at the beginning of the year, but I've been being lazy and negligent, full of excuses:

• I'm too sore to go to the gym
• I should just hurry and eat the rest of this so it doesn't go to waste
• I'm going to eat perfect tomorrow
• Okay, that was the last cheat day
• I'm too tired to go to the gym
• It's a special occasion
• I haven't eaten all day
• There's nothing else to eat
• I'm on vacation
• It's snowing

Stupid girl. Now I really have to dig in. I have to go "biggest loser" and apply myself fully to exercising and eating right. I can do it. I know that I can. For years I keep saying, this is the year. Well, god damnit. This IS the fucking year. I'm tired of just looking passable, I want to look fantastic. Soon, my face will start to look old and my chubbiness will start to sag. Best to get a hot bod to detract from my aging face.

If anyone else wants to join in my pain, feel free. You'll hate your life for a while, but I'm hoping the pay off is worth it in the end. And when I say "end" I mean the rest of my life.

Stress

I'm stressed.

I'm getting really anxious about this stupid GMAT I have to take for graduate school. I haven't had a stress dream for months but for the past two weeks they've been rearing their ugly heads. Usually they're just about some random stressful event happening, causing me to wake up with a back ache and a sore jaw from grinding my teeth. Also, I keep using the wrong "they're/their/there" -- an obvious sign of a distressed mind. I'm also freaking out (a little) because I have to finish my application for graduate school and then the actual MBA program. I'm already late for the graduate school application -- damn you, procrastination. And I need to start wrangling in my letters of recommendation for my MBA application. When I did my undergrad my dear and darling husband did all this shit for me. Apparently he shouldn't have because I am now ruined and spoiled and incapable of getting my act together and just APPLYING.

AND I'm getting nervous about being accepted. What if they don't accept me and I have to wait for spring semester? I really want to be done at age thirty. Thirty, not thirty-one and one quarter. I've been perusing the statistics of the last class and it appears that I'm at least a viable candidate:

• the average GPA was 3.4 -- mine is 3.67
• the average score on the GMAT was 583 -- I'm shooting for that to be my score
• only 14% female -- definitely in my favor

And studying for the GMAT is just reminding me how much I fucking hate math. Algebra is fine -- but most of it is quantitative reasoning, at which I suck. I've always done the worst on story problems. I don't seem to be able to extract the math from the English; I just feel like I'm reading a very dull tale. I'm taking a study/prep course on Saturday for the GMAT. Maybe that will assuage some of this anxiety. But as soon as I'm done with that I need to submit my graduate school application, finish my MBA application, register for the GMAT, apply for financial aid (fat chance of that), and then take a big deep breath.

Adventuring

All this warm weather is giving me antsy pants.

I feel the need for long walks that lead to nowhere.

I want to pack a weekend bag and dash off with my lover.

The open highway is calling my name, saying,

"Remember the sunny car,

your feet on the dashboard,

the radio blaring,

your book open on your lap,

the only distraction is the waiting adventure."

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What Happened Was ...

My friend posted this as her status on Facebook:
"So sick of Utah winters!"

And a friend of hers, we'll call him John Doe, replied,
"so move"
(Just like that, no punctuation, no capitalization -- you should know that anything in quotes is an exact replica of the original.)

My comment immediately followed:
"I hate it when people say "so move." What, like we lose the right to complain just because we live here? The huge task of quitting one's job, finding new employment, and leaving friends and family is OBVIOUSLY the BEST option and 100% plausible because we have one day where the weather pisses us off, right?

I'm with you, Jane Doe. Winter sucks ass. And I reserve the right to complain about the weather no matter where I live. If I live in California, I might complain about it being too hot."
 
At this point, some people cheered ... well, they liked my comment. And I was feeling pretty pleased with myself at standing up to the statement "so move" because it angers me so much.

Little did I know that John Doe is an insecure ass and felt the need to lash out ...

"I hate when people blow things out of proportion.

I lived in UT for 16 years, I know how winters are and I'm in phoenix so I obviously know how hot summers are.

If they moved, they have the option to see _other_ family and friends. So, it is ...an option to get out of the "Utah Winters" (yes that is plural for _more then one_ indicating shes not sick of "one day where the weather pisses us off" but rather the whole season.

If someone posts there "thoughts" they expect to see a "response" whether its something they agree with or not. The fact that you got "upset" because I said "so move" is pretty sad."

Again, this is quoted word for word, typo by typo, excessive quotation mark by excessive quotation mark. I'm thinking of sending it off as a suggestion for The Blog of Unnecessary Quotation Marks. Now, let me explain a few particulars of the situation. Jane Doe is a coworker of my husband's. A sensitive coworker. Normally I don't supply such sassy comments on an acquaintance's status because you never know how it'll be taken but Jane and I had been friends on Facebook for a while and I thought she would understand. I did not, however, anticipate the super sensitive response of John (who seems to be a family member ... perhaps the sensitivity is a genetic defect.) Why am I telling you all this? Well, I want you to know why I couldn't respond. Why I had to swallow my pride and remain mute. Why I couldn't shame this John Doe into tears with his poor grammar and lack of originality. Why I couldn't rebut, in all my wordy, indignant, self-righteous glory, as follows:

"John Doe -- I'm so sorry you think that I was upset at you (stranger that I don't even know)! I was just annoyed with your worn out sentiment of "so move." And I was trying to show Jane that I am completely and absolutely supportive of her right to complain about whatever she wants. It had nothing to do with you so please stop trying to make this about you. It's about Jane and how bad winters suck.

But since you opened it up for argument, I would say that I'm happy you no longer live in Utah, because then I don't have to run the possibility of bumping into you at the grocery store where I might say something like "I hate these carts" and you would promptly tell me to leave the grocery store for the one up the street. Also, I would like to point out that your attempts to belittle my comment and its validity fell far short of convincing me of your point of view -- whereas mine obviously struck a chord with you. It's my sincere hope that this means you won't throw out whatever dribble is coming out of your mind and then expect that people won't challenge your statement. I'm glad that you put "upset" in quotation marks, because I am, in fact, not upset by you. I'm more so offended at your inability to communicate with other humans. It gives faint hope for the future of the species.

Of course it's an option for her to move. I never said it wasn't. My exact words were "the BEST option" meaning that I'm rating her possible options and deeming "so move" not number one. Do you see the difference? Also, it snowed today, so I took it upon myself to think that she was indicating her irritation with Utah winters because of the weather today, which is why I said "one day." Obviously someone who moved because of the weather conditions of one day would be schizophrenic.

"There" means a place, hypothetical or otherwise. Given the context of the sentence, I believe you meant "their," the possessive plural. Which reminds me, I do not need a lecture from someone as grammatically challenged as you that "winters" means more than one. And while we're at it, it's "than" not "then," you trilobite."

It's depressing to think that he thinks he bested me.
But I'm big enough to just walk away because I know the reality of the situation: he's an idiot.

Doing Nothing

Since the performances last week, I have had a break from ballet and apparently that translates to my brain as a break from everything. I haven't done my hair or put on an ounce of make-up all week. I haven't done any laundry or cleaned up one mess. Yesterday I finally caved and emptied the dishwasher so it could be loaded again. And today I am going to TRY and get the laundry done. And tomorrow I'm going to TRY and do some grocery shopping. I have a ladies luncheon on Sunday, for which I'm making Gourmet Mac and Cheese and I am completely unprepared.

But can I just say ...

There are few things as liberating as giving the finger to society's expecations. I can understand why people become social deviants; it's very freeing. Successful women are expected to do everything; career, school, babies, marriage -- and all the while look fabulous, eat healthy, face smiling. Unfortunately the desire to maintain societal norms plagues even the most open-minded of us. However, this week, I've said, "No thank you" and gone all natural. My face is perfectly clean. My hair has no hair spray, no back combing. When I go to sleep at night I look exactly how I will look in the morning. I've never wanted to be one of those women. You know, the women that can't just pick up and go because they have to put their face on. I mean, I may look less attractive without makeup on, but that's my face; my real, honest-to-goodness face, as nature intended. And I'm not afraid to show it to the world ... or my husband. I'm not saying that I'm not a fan of makeup. I am. I love the stuff. And I enjoy spending hours getting ready and making myself up to the nines. It's just that occasionally I like to feel simple, to live simple, to take 10 more minutes to read instead of primping my hair. I challenge all of you to give it a try. Let your beautiful self out -- uninhibited by colors and concoctions. And say hello to the mirror.

On to the Next Task ...

Buying a new car.

Let me tell you a story. Tom and I bought the '95 Saturn in 2003 for $3500. And then again when we came home from China for $1500. Now it is dying. The process has been slow but not painful. We've put very very little money into this car over the past 7 years. Over the last year its manifested a series of strange problems: the check engine light came on, then off. It stalled as Tom came off the freeway last fall. It stalled earlier this winter in the same place. I thought it was Tom's driving. So I banned him from driving it and then replaced the fuel filter, thinking maybe that was the problem -- an easy $50 fix. I've been babying it ever since.

But last week it started taking longer and longer to start. Time for another $60 fix -- a new battery. Today, however, as I was driving home, it did to me what I thought would only happen to Tom: it died on the side of the road. I thought I felt it shudder as I decelerated, and then as I went to turn I could tell the power steering wasn't working. And neither was the car. I was able to use my momentum and get it into a 7-Eleven parking lot. I waited a couple minutes, started it up, and drove it home.

I figure that I have, at most, one more week to drive this car. Let the search begin.

Here are the two cars I'm seriously considering:

The Toyota Yaris

Really cool interior

Awesome gas mileage

Super cute and little but with BIG storage capacity

Obviously I wouldn't get red. I would get white or black.

Or perhaps this:

The Ford Fiesta

Yes, it's back in style and back in the U.S.

More horsepower than the Yaris (we all know how I like to speed)

Also has awesome gas mileage.

Push-to-Start engine (NO KEY!)

And remote keyless entry (not sure if this is available with the Yaris)

Both are small five doors. I like the five doors because it makes room for most anything when the back seats are folded flat. I'll admit, I am leaning towards the Yaris. The price difference is practically nil between the two, but Toyota is offering 0% interest for qualified buyers, which would probably be me because I have fantastico credit and they will probably want to give it since their brand has suffered such a hit. Also, from the pics, I like the lighting and layout in the Yaris a bit better. I'm not a fan of red dashboard lighting (which the Fiesta has). It makes me an angry driver -- which I tend to be anyway. I know that Toyota seems to be a reliable brand but you can never decide until you drive it. What if it's really loud or shaky at high speeds? I know that the Fiesta is getting really good reviews. I'll have to see how loud the blinker is. Tom and I test drove a Focus before we were married and the blinker was insanely loud.

I'm going to try using the Costco Auto Program because I hate hassling with car salesmen. I will say, though, that Tom and I have a good dynamic. He's the nice guy and I'm the bitch. It throws off the salesman, disarming him with charm and then hitting him hard with an immovable price I want to pay. But if we use Costco's authorized dealer we get a certain amount off the MSRP and don't have to deal with all the bullshit. 

Sigh.

At least I found a place to live.

By a Hair

I might not have even wanted it, but it doesn't matter, it's gone.

The couple who saw the place before me loved it and scooped up the beloved place right before my very eyes -- as I pulled up to the property. Depressing. But, oh well. It was a bit pricey (@ $1150 per month) and it did have downstairs neighbors. Maybe it's meant to be. And who finds the perfect apartment on their first excursion out? Obviously not me.

But the search must go on. I'm checking out this little beauty today:

As you can see, it has a little backyard (SO cute for widdle Marie) that would be fun for get togethers and whatnot. It is a 2 bedroom teeny house so you have the whole place to yourself. It also has a great location, just off 5th South and is going for the price of $1000 a month. Fingers and toes crossed, please.

The Search

God, looking for an apartment is terrible. No wonder people buy houses and just live there forever. Moving sucks balls. Hard. Today, whilst searching on KSL, I found 2 apartments in great areas with a fantastic price. They are both gone! My lease expires June 1st, barely one measly month away. There are 2 houses on 8th East and 3rd South that look promising ... but they could turn out to be total crap holes. And the dude won't return my calls. He is listed as the seller for both properties -- another sign they could be dumps.

This could be promising. Super great location and only $800 per month.

Oh, but I just talked to Mary Ann and she said that they already have an offer pending.

Blah.

Or what about this? I'm going to see it tomorrow -- but it doesn't have ANY on-site laundry.

I've used a laundromat in my apartment complex and I still hated it.
Once you've been spoiled with your own washer and dryer, you can't go back. 

It would be like using an outhouse.

This, however, is the piece de resistance, the love, the want.

It is $1150 a month and is a tad bit further from downtown than we would like,

but it's a beauty. See:

We'd have a little porch.

And a fabulously new kitchen.

A nice living room with hardwood floors.

A lovely second bedroom.

Double sink bathroom.

Tub and walk-in shower.

Master bedroom with walk-in his and hers closets. Perfect.

We wouldn't have a bike in the bedroom.

I'm having difficulty contacting the tenants so I can actually get IN and see the place. I spoke with the landlord and he seemed like a friendly fellow. Cross your fingers for me. I'm hoping for this one to work out.

Accidents Happen

Well, accidents are what happen to me when I fuck around with perfection. My blog was looking good and then I decided that I was bored with it and wanted to change the layout. Wrong. I have gone from template to template trying to find something that had 3 columns and represented "my style" (whatever that is) and have, in the process, pulled my hair out AND lost vital information from my sidebar.

Case in point: ALL my family/friend blog links are gone. Do you think I know the addresses to any of those places? Fuck no. I just click on my handy link and blog stalk all of you. Now I have no idea what any of you are doing. It's like the world ended.

Or how about this? I lost the list of EVERY SINGLE FUCKING BOOK I read last year. I don't remember all the books I read; that's why I started a list -- I even wrote a post about the list that I would start. And now it is all gone and what's left is the pathetic one-liner of books completed in 2010. (Yes, I've only completed one book this year; started many, finished uno. Pathetic.)

And don't think that I wasn't smart, well, I started out smart and then became dumber and dumber (love that movie) as the process became more and more degraded. I saved a version of my old template for just this sort of problem. I thought, if anything happens, I have this saved, right here, safe on my desktop. But after all the weird templates and the strange crap they had, several widgets were lost and even though I don't know what a widget is, they're apparently important and NOT saved in your template. Sure, when I uploaded my old template the gadgets were listed as an element on my page -- but were EMPTY.

Fuck. I hate my blog life right now.

So, I hope my layout doesn't piss you off (like it does me) and I hope you still come to read my random thoughts. I will say this about my experience: there is nothing like change to make you re-evaluate what you really want.

Send me your blog links.
And that's Gelsey Kirkland at the top. The best female American ballerina of our time, imho.

Not "New Year's" Goals

I want to TRY and do some things this year. They are not goals. I refuse to call them a goal because then I will inevitably fail because I will place the "goals" on the shelf of "tomorrow" and never complete them. Like last year. Plus, I think when you make it a goal you make it a job. And I already have one of those. These are more like self-improvement, make-yourself-more-interesting-to-yourself things. I call them things, not goals.

So in order to prevent hate and loathing of self, here are the THINGS ...

Become a ballerina again
Find a suitable penpal
Write a lot
Cook more
Eat less
Go running
Get promoted
Get into graduate school
Learn to play the cello -- cellos are awfully sexy

Where is My Avis?

I wish I had a penpal.

When I was younger I was a TERRIBLE penpal. But now I'm grown and I think I would enjoy the old fashoned-ness of it. I have a typewriter that my husband has tried to throw away several times. But I continue to protest. I cite here my many uses:

Poetry comes out better on a typewriter

I enjoy the hum of the motor ... or whatever makes an electric typewriter run

I like the deliberate process of typing on the keys
I like the crooked letters

I like to press the shift key

If I had a penpal, I could write lovely letters and then sign my name at the bottom. In pen.

Typing on a computer is not the same. You can backspace, you can type nearly as fast as your thought process, you can delete entire sections and paste them somewhere else. When you type on a typewriter you think hard. You can't just spit out pages and pages of garbage because a: you're slow, garbage doesn't come out AS MUCH when you're typing slower and b: that would be a waste of trees. My granny had a typewriter and I would practice typing on it, playing secretary when I was stuck at her house for weeks at a time during my summers off of school. When Grandpa died and I found his old blue typewriter, I lunged for it. Old Blue comes in its own carrying case. It smells dusty and delicious, like thoughts and fingers and years of words. How could I ever throw it out?

But I should take advantage of it. I really just need to plug it in and start writing letters. Just boring stuff, the day to day of life. In Jane Austen's time letter writing was like an Olympic sport. It's time for me to participate. I'm going to pick a random address in some nice town in Anywhere, USA and mail a letter. I will describe myself and tell my new friend that I am searching for my own Avis. If they want to be my Avis, all they need do is respond. Avis was Julia Child's penpal. She accidentally mailed a letter to her and they started corresponding. They became such good friends; Avis was the one who helped Mastering the Art of French Cooking get published. The best thing about a penpal is the waiting. Waiting by the mailbox in hopes of a letter coming. And getting to know someone a little at a time. I tend to get so excited when I meet someone that I just go BLAH and tell them everything about me in two point eight seconds. Then I become the bore I really am and they don't want to talk to me ever again. With a penpal, you have to go slow and they probably won't find out what a snooze I am for at least a year. Wow. I am so excited. Now, I know that it will probably take several tries before I receive a response and actually GET a penpal. But this is as good a start as any.

Next, I'm going to work at bringing back formal dinner parties. Who's with me?

Adversity

Dear Friend:

Thank you for
making me strong,
making me interesting,
making me adventurous.

Because of you
I will have a life
full of sadness,
full of disappointment,
full of anger.

But because of you
I will have a life,
full of love,
full of triumph,
full of peace.

Again, thank you.

The Business of Being Born

If you know me personally you know that I am this weird hybrid of hippy ideals (going green, no more plastic bags, vegetarianism, no GMO foods) and modern living (iPhone, iPods, nintendo games, constant internet). I'm forward thinking -- and yet there is a side of me that dreams about growing all my own food and sewing all my own clothes. Of course, I would be a naked skeleton, but STILL, the idea exists within my thought process.

SO...

I just watched this documentary. Wow. I have investigated "natural" childbirth before and debated with the slim possibility that I would consider it for myself. Most of you know that I am a fan of a pre-scheduled c-section. I will pick the day, the way, and move all obstacles to the side. But the documentary poses an interesting idea that eliminating all the obstacles detracts from the experience of childbirth. And, even more so, that in America the hospital/medical system/insurance companies/OBGYN businesses take away a woman's options. They talk about the horrors of excessive drug use in the hospitals; the birthing plan out the window. I read a book about an OBGYN nurse who had a hospital birth for her first child. She told the doctor that her legs were up to high and that couldn't she please put her legs down and when she was not permitted to shift her position, she ripped. Her doctor wouldn't listen to her -- because what did she know? She was a hysterical pregnant woman in labor!

And this story. This is exactly what I want to avoid, hence the opted c-section route. Part of me figures, if everything that can go wrong, will go wrong, why not jump to the end point? Bypass hours and hours of pushing with no result and just enjoy the calm-inducing drugs followed by baby and perfect life.

Now...all of this is hypothetical. I'm not planning on being pregnant for sometime. But during this time before becoming pregnant, I want to be smart. I want to research everything and do what really is best. The cynical part of me cringes when women talk about "doing what's best for the baby" and all that hyper-mother stuff. But. I already talk about slowing down immunization schedules, 100% cotton clothing, making my own babyfood, breast milk, and on and on. So I'm trying to push away my cynic response and really dig in to the research.

Because, you see, I fear the c-section just as much as I fear a natural childbirth. It just seems LESS fearful to my rational brain. How could anything go wrong? You're in a hospital! You're surrounded by medical staff in a sterilized room! I don't want to give birth at home. I might ruin my favorite bedding...

That said.

Watching the homebirths in the documentary is magical. The woman is in her own house. She walks around through her contractions -- naked if she wants to be. Holding her husband, having her husband hold her. Sitting in the bathtub. Lying in the bed. That certainly seems nicer that being stuck in those icky hospital beds with an iv in my arm. Watching these scenes, I can see myself. I can actually picture myself moaning in pain -- but it's okay because my husband is beside me on the bed comforting me through a contraction -- and then reaching down and bringing my own love child into the world. Finding out what the sex is the old fashioned way; looking down. The women in the documentary talk about this internal struggle where you realize as a person that you are faced with two horrible options: 1) don't push because it hurts too much or 2) push because it hurts too much. But they say that afterwards, after it's all over, you can't believe that YOU, this teeny tiny regular woman, climbed the mountain of childbirth. And it's very easy to feel caught up in that kind of empowerment. This idea that you can listen to your body, surrender to your body, and come out a winner.

Obviously it's not for everyone. If you have high risk factors you won't be able to have a birth at home. But why would you? No one wants to DIE during childbirth; and yet the U.S. has a higher infant mortality rate than most of Europe and Japan. According to the documentary, Europe and Japan use midwives for 70-80% of births. We use midwives for less than 10%. Do the two go hand in hand? Not necessarily. Some experts say that our mortality rates are higher because we have more high-risk pregnancies: obese or overweight mothers, older mothers, more multiple births, fertility aided pregnancies.

Please watch the documentary and provide feedback. Obviously this is like, massively critical, so drop everything so you can respond thoughtfully to this post. If you have Netflix, you can watch it instantly online. I'm serious. Watch it now. I want to know what you think.

Use Your Words

I would rate my ability to speak and understand the English language as 'moderately high' to 'high.' And even then, I'm sometimes stunted by my vocabulary. Words are the best way to describe something, a feeling, a moment, but my words don't seem to do justice.

I've just finished reading 'The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.' Edgar is a young boy born mute. He is obsessed with the dictionary. He loves words and their sounds and meanings. He revels in naming the puppies on the farm, trying to find the exact and perfect word. He succeeds where I fail. And he is fictional. Of course, the author of Edgar's story is magical. He weaves a story of beauty and fascination unlike anything I have read in a long while. In particular, the words. Words fill my head all day; which is the most true description of a person, place, or thing? But most often I feel like a mute. Unable to express myself the way I want, constantly searching for the perfect word.

The other day my niece asked me "aren't 'plan' and 'idea' the same thing?" What an interesting question. Merriam-Webster says: idea - a plan for action; something imagined or pictured in the mind; a central meaning or purpose. plan - a drawing or diagram showing the parts or details of something; a method for accomplishing an objective. So it would seem from the definitions that an idea could be a plan and vice versa, but the subtle nuance of difference in the meaning of the two words is fascinating to me. And that's why finding the perfect words is a neverending quest. And why I keep writing.

Satisfied?

When I was in High School, I did NOT take psychology. I wasn't that interested...and I also figured best not to wade in uncharted waters. But once at University, I took a 1010 course in sociology and then an advanced course titled 'Sociology of Gender.' Fascinating stuff, sociology. Of course, it's a 'soft science' based on the general, not the specific, but it is nevertheless, fascinating. And, being a feminist, I love to ruminate on the sociological effects of being classified as "female" because I know how much of gender is reared -- not biological. I for one enjoy the constraints of girlhood; I love pink. I love getting dressed up. I love shopping. And so on. And if you were to ask my mother she would tell you that I loved those things as a small child, nay, an infant. She always tells people about how I loved dresses as a little girl. My mother is not a girly girl. Where did my ultra conformist feminine personality come from? Who knows. Perhaps I am simply more willing to go with the societal flow.

I am happy as a girl.

That is not to say that I am constrained by my gender, or by the gender of other people. I will stretch outside of my comfort zone to non-traditional territory. For example, many of you know that my husband did not work while he went to school and I was the bread winner. It did not bother me, but it did bother others. Maybe "bother" isn't the correct word; people thought the situation worth commenting on. And by commenting, I mean make snide remarks about how he wasn't employed even though he was not employed by choice, and a student, and we made plenty of money. These comments pissed off my gender sensibilities. WOMEN stay home all the time. WOMEN are unemployed often, or do intermittent work with no career path in mind. MEN do not comment on this situation.

Why don't they comment? Perhaps because they think it benefits them, or the family, or the wife herself. I for one do not think the cost is worth it. For those of you who know me personally, you know that I enjoy being busy, and yes, my opinion is slightly jaded towards being a "working woman." Part of this is because I know myself and I know that if I stayed at home I would be insane. Said insanity would then drive me to an asylum of some sort -- just to get me out of the fucking house. That is what I call self preservation.

I suppose this rant is coming from a head full to the brim of thoughts about wifedom and domesticity. Because, like I said, I don't mind my gender assignments, but maybe that's because I'm not trapped by them. Tom allows me to do and BE what I choose, and I in turn allow him the same. I'm reading 'The Feminine Mystique' and let me tell you; the mind reels. In the late 50s, after emancipation, during civil rights, even extending out to the hippy era, women all across the country were falling for the happy housewife. This myth that women are better in the home than in the work place. And women all across the country were tricked into thinking that college, even high school, were only as good as the husband it would catch them. Education was a means to an end; that end being a husband and family. Birth rates skyrocketed as women believed that their sole and best purpose was to procreate. Women were "happiest" at home cleaning and raising kids and taking care of their husbands and reading drivel and selling away their own dreams. (Does this sound familiar to anyone? Hello, Utah? Are you listening? Utah is still, to this day, a place where women stay home to raise a family and even though they are some of the most educated women in the country, they aren't doing anything with it. Perhaps this cultural phenomenon is tied with Utah's high methamphetamine abuse...) Sometimes I wish I wanted kids, simply because it would be an easy out. Throw my passions into my children, into motherhood, and worry about their well being rather than my own future. But that's not fair to me or to my hypothetical kidlings. That is not what would make me happy.

I think Carrie Bradshaw said it best: "Perhaps as women we've been given too many options...now we're unable to make a decision." The women's movement empowered women to think that they could do and be anything they wanted because they had been given the right to vote. But sometimes I think -- men always had the right to vote and they don't feel as though they can do or become anything. So maybe we got the wrong idea; our dreams got so big we couldn't possibly attain them and to make the failure less painful, we stay home, stay small, stay safe. I'm not meaning to bash stay-at-homes by saying this. In fact, Charlotte, in the same episode, said, "The women's movement is supposed to be about choice" which I believe. I believe in doing what makes one happy and obviously this is something I wrestle with in my own brain quite often. And I still have a difficult time putting the thoughts down in a comprehensive manner...

I guess what I'm really trying to say is: what will satisfy me?