Monthly Archives: May 2014

In my defense…

In my defense…

So yesterday I was driving along Brambleton Ave in Roanoke VA thinking my usual thoughts (” damn it’s hot for May”, “I should really go work out and stop eating at buffets”, ” did I pay the electric bill or just open the envelope” etc.) when I was distracted out of my thoughts by a sign at the dominos pizza (see picture). I continued to drive on for a few hundred yards and then had to stop. “I gotta take a picture of that and post it.” I wasn’t really sure what about it made me feel this need, certainly it seemed in poor taste at the very least.
Typically I’m not the kinda girl to get bogged down in the details. For example around my house we use the word “boobs” as an expletive. “Boobs! It’s raining hard outside”, ” aw boobs, I forgot my homework” ” holy boobs I just stubbed my toe”. You get the picture. As a feminist, a woman and a mother I am much more concerned about the Nigerian girls who were kidnapped and why something like that could happen and why it wasn’t a news story for three weeks. I’d rather focus on the big issues that most of us can agree are detrimental to the human condition than focus on being called a broad. I get how the two things are interconnected, I just think think it’s more productive this way.
Which brings me to two discoveries that I had after I posted the picture on twitter and Facebook. One, not everyone agrees with me. Why I am still surprised by this will be baffling to most people. I always assume the people with whom I associate agree with me. They don’t, and that’s good. Diversity is what makes the world an interesting place. The other is people will defend stupid things just to be contrary. Come on-dominos pizza, it’s not that great. The company doesn’t do anything extraordinary for its employees or the planet. They just make greasy, fattening pizza with ingredients that mostly come in giant cans. And I seriously doubt whoever came up with the sign put very much thought into it other than…”that’s funny”. Well good job pizza sign guy. I’ve had your stupid sign on my mind for over a day. That’s pretty good marketing.
For the record I neither believe that the sign will make girls want to strip or remind men that they should stop by a strip club. It does remind me that sex ( or at least the idea of naked women) sells everything, even mediocre pizza. Frankly, that disappoints me. To be clear, that’s disappointed not offended.
Mostly though I’m surprised how people responded indignantly, as though if I were offended I needed to get over it. Political correctness has made some people mad. Madder than the gun nuts in some cases. I suppose everyone needs to have their little red wagon to pull around and say, f-you if you don’t like my wagon. I was just wanted to post something on my twitter page that affected me. I did that, really just that.


In defense of “that woman” aka A fairly weird rambling letter

In defense of “that woman” aka A fairly weird rambling letter

I’m sorry. I’m sorry because at the time of your affair with that man, president Clinton, I was a new feminist. With all the knowledge of a 1998 feminist possible, I did exactly what I shouldn’t have done- I blamed you. I loved bill Clinton, mostly I still do. I took a very, “boys will be boys” attitude at the time. Come on, he was handsome-ish , powerful, charismatic, smart, he seemed to otherwise champion women’s rights. Geez- see Monica… I could have been you (if I’d been more politically ambitious and less interested in my acting career. Which btw has gone about as far as your political career in the past 20 years). I’d have swooned over the attention of the president/specifically Bill Clinton. My god- this is a man that made even Hillary Rodham swoon. I was only one year older than you. I would have ruined my blue dress too. And I would have been shocked, hurt, devastated when my lover, his wife and the entire Democratic Party threw me under the bus. But it was so much easier to vilify you, to call you a slut or (perhaps) worse call you dumpy. Because the attention of that man, would have crushed my sense of logic and reason, would have overtaken my 22 year old sensibilities faster than you could have said “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”. Because he was wrong. He knew he had almost nothing to lose and you had everything to lose and time has proven him right. Worlds’ worst boyfriend was otherwise one of our best presidents and we allowed you to take the fall for his human flaw.
Maybe I am most sorry because I feel badly that things happened this way to you (and God only knows if I had had to suffer from the same public humiliation as the result of any of the gutter scum I “dated” in the late 90s I would probably have not even been as brave as you) -and looking back we pretty much all took the classic bystander approach. But you didn’t deserve that. So I’m sorry.
I’d like to put forth that you are a bit of a pioneer in the field of public slut-shaming and because of you our collective consciousness has had to take a look at the women betrayed by powerful men. We have been forced to reflect on how we respond to women and men in sex scandals. Who do we blame? How do we publicly treat men and women who both make ill-advised choices? Now, then and always the personal is the political and you unwittingly (and arguably-ungracefully) have burned your bra in the caldron of public humiliation in order to shine a light on my own post adolescent lust for male approval. Despite my own education and feminist enlightenment, I failed to see the opportunity right in front of my face. Fortunately ( for me as well as the boarder community) thinking and learning are long term endeavors and just like I now know that dogs are not just the male version of cats ,I know that you got the shitty end of that deal. Impeachment was nothing compared to not being able to find a job or peace for a very long time. I hope you’ve found it now Monica. You really deserve it.

And I mean it

And I mean it

You are a good mom
Because you worry that you are not a good mom
Because you cry and fuss and worry
You are a good mom
Full of all the human emotions of all the other
Humans in the world
These emotions include:
Sometimes rage.
You are a good mom
Because you get up when you want to lay down
You try when you want to quit
You keep going
You do the best you can.
You are a good mom
Because you are teaching your kids
To care, to cry, to hurt, to heal, to entertain, to be independent
To be grateful, to be human too.
You are a good mom
Because you laugh, you apologize, you forgive, you feel.
You are a good mom
And I mean it.

Mother’s Day, a true story

Mother’s Day, a true story

Captain’s log, Mother’s Day 2014

The crew agreed to a 9am wake up call this morning so I could receive the much deserved sleep I need. However at 6am I awoke to hushed (as well as not so hushed) screaming. And then sobbing and then a slammed door, which caused the dog to bark. I thought to myself, I should just get up, the sun is shinning after all. But I waited and everyone seemed to simmer down.
712am a return of the hushed screams, now drifting in from the kitchen, I hear dishes and smell cooking (or perhaps burning) butter. Nothing to worry about, I had pre-made coffee last night, all I have to do is turn it on.
740am I smell strawberries and the dog is incessantly licking her paw. How can licking be so loud? I’ll get up. After all, it’s also one of the crew members 14th birthday. I know there will be a window of happiness for a few minutes this morning, better get to it before that disappears.
742am breakfast arrives. Strawberry butterscotch pancakes (apparently the chocolate chips got eaten) mostly cooked into roundish blobs.
749am. The dog eats the pancakes when we walk over to open the big birthday present.
752am I go on a scavenger hunt around the house for hand painted boxes, lovingly written notes and the final gift, a gorgeous framed picture of my three girls.
802am we play a game of heads up and discover the headbands are a joke, so adjust.
814am heads up game falls apart.
822am I discover the dog has thrown up the pancakes he gobbled up. I clean up the throw up.
845am after discovering the reason the coffee was weak ( the girls had added a second pot of water, not realizing I had already put the water into the machine), I notice the kitchen. Perhaps a typhoon hit? I clean the kitchen.
925am the girls have paired off or closed themselves off and are only periodically shouting.
940am I climb under my covers, one dog snuggles up. The other licks loudly under the bed.
Oh captain, my captain…happy Mother’s Day.