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Archive for the ‘turns out I'm a feminist’ Category

fuck politeness

Monday, November 14th, 2016

(I can’t remember if I’ve written about My Favorite Murder before. Is this why people use real tags instead of half thought out run on ones about the post content?)

There’s this podcast called My Favorite Murder. It’s kind of famous now, but I’ve been listening to it since close to the beginning (tosses artfully unbrushed hair over shoulder and pushes glasses up nose) and I love it. It was the impetus for me and a girlfriend to start our own podcast, actually!

(Our podcast was super famous, you wouldn’t have heard of it … but then my cohost/friend got possessed. She’s got an exorcism scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving, so perhaps at some point the podcast will return and share space with the blog.)

One of the key tenants of the MFM listeners (women, let’s be straight – they’re all women. Men don’t have the constant sense of unease that leads to an obsession with the worst things that can happen that comes with having a vagina. That’s why true crime readers/listeners are almost exclusively women which is a well known fact that I totally have a citation for) is ‘fuck politeness’. See, they have a goal of teaching the women who listen ways to be safer, and they’re fun and useful things like ‘stay sexy, don’t get murdered‘, ‘you’re in a cult, call your dad‘, and ‘stay out of the forest‘.

Also, fuck politeness.

Crockett and I know this guy. He’s a nice guy, we see him out and about in town. Lots of people we know know him, and I’m not sure they all like talking to him but no one actively avoids him.

The core of ‘fuck politeness’ is that women can easily get in trouble because we’re taught to be sweet above all else. Polite above all else. To go with the flow and not be a problem, above all else. The action of ‘fuck politeness’ is that, if something doesn’t feel good, then don’t worry about being good. It’s not our job as women to listen to men who want to carry our groceries to spend a few more minutes with us. It’s not our job to drink a drink someone bought for us without asking.

It’s not our job to be sweet.

This guy we know, he makes me uncomfortable. He’s not done anything aggressive. If anything, he’s more Elmyra Duff than Buffalo Bill (the Silence of the Lambs one, not the cowboy one). He likes me and Crockett, but tonight he saw us out with some friends and came to stand with us. He was too close, and he’s been too close too many times. I feel bad, like I’m overreacting. Everyone I know knows him! And he’s a good guy!

But also. In my head, he sort of feels like a kid who might give a puppy a bath and not understand how long that puppy can stay underwater. Does that make sense? I don’t think he means any harm, but I also don’t trust that he would know what the lines are if he found us in a position where no one else was there to help?

I don’t know, man.

I left, after a little while. I didn’t ask him to step away from me, I just backed out of the conversation.

The problem with ‘fuck politeness’ is that it sounds totally reasonable when you hear someone else explain it. “Oh, he showed up at your house to return something you don’t remember dropping, after you said no to a date? Babe, fuck politeness – say thanks and close the door on his request for a glass of water. Then call your best friend and describe his ass, just in case.” “Oh, he has a map and would really appreciate it if you’d roll down your window so he could ask for directions? Babe, let him ask a car that has someone in it that isn’t a woman alone.” Those seem medium rough, but also totally reasonable.

This guy hasn’t done anything weird. I mean, yes, he’s written a poem about me (tonight) but he thought it was based on a prompt by Crockett and he writes a lot …

I don’t know. I can’t boil this one down. He makes me edgy, and maybe that’s enough. I did say goodbye, but I left. And I might continue to leave if he shows up and stands too close to me.

Fuck politeness.

and I think it’s kind of sad

Sunday, November 13th, 2016

(Crazy Ex-Girlfriend season 2 episode 4 spoilers abound.)

Crockett and I were out grabbing dinner earlier, and I remembered something and turned to him and banged on his shoulder.

“Oh oh oh! I forgot to tell you! Paula got an abortion in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend!”

“Oh,” sad face Crockett.

“No, it was good!”

Confused face Crockett.

“See, she’s an adult woman with two teenage kids and she just got into law school, and she thought she couldn’t get an abortion but it also wasn’t a baby she and her (bumbling but cute) husband were trying for, so she did end up doing it! It was the right decision!”

“Ok .. is it a big deal?”

“NO! They made it the B plot even! It was about the same as her law school application process, importance wise!”

I did speak with a lot of exclamation points, I’m not exaggerating. It was a beautiful, realistic, low key representation of a process that millions of families go through.

When Paula was at home in bed afterwards, her husband told her he was going to make her dinner but because he knew his limits he’d order a pizza instead and it was very sweet. See, earlier in the episode he’d tried to feed the family raw chicken. Then when Paula’s best friend (who didn’t know about the pregnancy or it’s end) came over, Paula cried a little and didn’t tell her what had happened, she just said she didn’t feel well. It hurt her, physically and emotionally, there was no doubt about it, so much so that she wasn’t able to talk about it  - it wasn’t brushed off, but it wasn’t a decision that was sanctified either.

It’s not a position I’ve found myself in, but this feels like a home truth real life way this could go down, and it came with literally zero judgement in any way from any character, and it was the B PLOT. I LOVED IT SO MUCH, and I’m sad that I’m so happy it was so meaningful.

Something like 1 in 5 women will have an abortion. That’s virtually half the number of women who will be diagnosed with some form of cancer throughout their lifetime. We talk about cancer ALL THE TIME. Yet the representation of the women who get abortions is almost nil.

Whatever – I loved Crazy Ex-Girlfriend from the first, but it just keeps getting better. Rebecca Bloom FOREVER.

 

admire with me, would you

Wednesday, November 9th, 2016

This dress:

cewooldress

It is black. For mourning.

It’s made of wool and linen. Natural fibers that come from the earth, and probably won’t be available in ten years (a week) because someone doesn’t believe in global warming and wants us to not pass go and go straight to Mad Max land.

It’s got thumb holes for coziness, which is an excellent secret way to feel like one is wrapping oneself up in a blanket on the couch while still being out in the world.

In short, it’s the post-Hillary dress.

The post-Trump outfit OBVIOUSLY looked like this, in case you’re wondering:

burgandysuit

 

Ok, off to drink myself into oblivion.

(Not really, but I have said that several times today. Out loud. And half meant it.)

(Yes, this whole thing was dramatic but not entirely kidding because WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED to a day I was so, so excited about? I can’t write about it, I don’t have anything to say that isn’t being said by wiser minds all over the internet.)

I’m with her

Monday, November 7th, 2016

I always have been. I thought she was a better choice than Obama approximately 1000 years ago. I might have been wrong, since the Obama’s administration has been pretty fucking solid, but she might have had the same opportunities and made the same choices.

I’m so, so scared. I mentioned I’ve been crying, right? About politics? Endlessly? The Rachel Bloom video makes me cry. The FiveThirtyEight election forecast page makes me cry. Our Colorado end of life proposition makes me sob like a bad actress in a bad romantic comedy (that is to say, at an unbelievable level).

I’m having a hard time mustering up a lot of concern for most of my local initiatives, honestly, and it’s probably like that in a lot of places. I did research and vote all of them (except the tax ones, I mostly just vote yes when they ask if I want to pay more taxes (<- not a joke)), but I’ve forgotten about most but 106 (end of life). Oh, and the single-payer healthcare thing. That’ll be interesting. And the minimum wage hike, actually? Ok, fine, I’m concerned about all of these things (and in favor of them).

But mostly I’m concerned that a woman who should be in the middle of a trailblazing, history making, well deserved run for the presidency is actually surrounded by the still burning dumpster fire remains of our national political process.

How did we get here? How did we as a country land in a place where a man who is openly misogynist and racist as the TIP OF HIS TERRIBLE ROTTEN ICEBERG is being lauded, if even if mostly in small but loud communities? It doesn’t look like he’s going to win, but, you know. Brexit. Polling error. A 1/3 chance of Hillary losing to him (as of this writing) is about twice her odds of losing Russian roulette, if she decided to go that way.

Anyway. I’d be with her no matter what. This whole ‘it’ll be politics as usual’ complaint is fucking fine, especially if those politics are the ones we’ve had for the last eight years. But considering her opponent is a man who is actively making the world worse just by opening his mouth in public

Holy wow am I with her.

 

dogs aren’t babies we all read NY magazine

Thursday, November 3rd, 2016

We were car shopping this evening, and our salesman would not stfu about babies.

For real.

(Our cars are fiiiiiine, just one of them doesn’t move so well and hasn’t since June, ndb.)

Backstory: our salesman was adorable, and Irish (what up totally undeserved by me brother!), and very very very shamelessly self promotional. “Our Yelp page is basically only reviews of me.” Also: “Oh, look at this picture of my 20 month old!”, he says, handing me his phone where there was a indisputably cute picture of a baby. “He just got mad at my wife because the sour cream on his macaroni and cheese isn’t yogurt!”

“Cute”, I tell him.

He read the room, and asked if we had dogs.

He was prepping for a pitch on the leather replacement package, ya know. If we weren’t going to respond to baby puke, we’d respond to unclipped nails.

The thing is, at some point after that I mentioned we were recently married and then he went the way a surprising-not-surprising amount of people have gone (since the wedding THREE AND A HALF WEEKS AGO (Oct 9th future Emma in case you’re referencing this post to help you remember your anniversary, don’t tell Crockett)): joke-not-joking about when we were going to have babies.

“When you have a kid, you can put this side down … oh right, I mean your dogs,” and then a wink.

“The leather can stand up to a lot, but spilt formula … or spilled groceries, for you,” and then a wink.

(These were not actual winks. He didn’t drop one eyelid while looking at us, because no one good does that anymore. Only bads. Write that down. Nice people you know can wink at you in a cute way, but strangers (particularly of the sales variety) are no longer allowed to wink. It’s gross. You’re a bad if you do that. These were spiritual winks.)

Crockett didn’t even notice. I’m talking to him as I write this, and he’s genuinely confused. He remembers the comments (there were more than listed above), but has no sense that they were assumptive. Pervasive. Patriarchal.

So.

Am I so prepared for people to start asking about babies that I’m seeing that shit everywhere? Or was he trying to sell a couple he perceived as being in the baby zone? Or was the baby zone a straight up assumption that I really will have to deal with 4-ev-er?

(post referenced in title)