Updated: Feminism: No, Really

fem·i·nism/ˈfɛm əˌnɪz əm/  [fem-uh-niz-uh m]
noun
1. the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men.
2. ( sometimes initial capital letter ) an organized movement for the attainment of such rights for women.
3. feminine character.

Recently my friend Superbetsy blogged, in a wonderfully snarky way, about cosplay at various geeky conventions. A commenter took issue with the subject as "unfeminist" and irrationally attacked the post based on...well, stupid. Phenomenally, remarkably, blindly stupid. She went on and on about how basic female grooming (plucking eyebrows, shaving legs, wearing makeup, etc) only fed the patriarchal inequality in this country.

Fucking REALLY? You judgemental, inexperienced, self-righteous IDIOT.

Instead of standing together, "feminists" of this ilk attack any woman who enjoys being female...never mind that same female may make significantly more money than her spouse, volunteer at a shelter, and help other women build themselves up. "Feminists" like the commenter put the same "ist" into feminism that goes with "race," "sex," "age," or any other reason to exclude a group with bigotry.

All over the world, women are subjected to various sorts of domestic violence. Women are sold as sex slaves. Women are prevented from receiving education, medical care, dignity, and in many cases life.

• In India, a woman was gang raped to the extent her attackers RIPPED OUT PIECES OF HER INTESTINE. Yeah. That didn't make US news outlets, but that's why she's still in critical condition. She was on a supposedly safe bus. With her boyfriend.
• In Afghanistan, a pre-teen was shot by the Taliban for the horrific crime of her "dishonorable" desire to GET AN EDUCATION.
• In the United States:
• a college student daring to speak up for the right to control her own reproductive system is called a slut publicly by media and politicians in an attempt to shame her into silence.
• The same politicians try to say rape isn't real if a woman gets pregnant, that pregnancy can't happen if it was REALLY rape.
• A girlfriend and mother is killed by her cheating boyfriend for the uppity crime of saying he can't fuck other women and be with her. He then killed himself, and there are SHRINES of mourning for HIM. Because he was an NFL player...and a selfish murderer who deprived his daughter of her mother over a goddamn argument.

Yeah. Let's talk about what feminism really is, shall we?

Feminism isn't about whether or not wearing makeup, plucking your eyebrows, wearing high heels, trying to attract a member of the same or opposite sex makes you more or less a woman. It's about equality, and enjoying that I'm a woman doesn't change my belief that the sexes should be treated equally and women shouldn't have to face degradation, torture, and violence just for having a vagina. Feminism means if a woman chooses to fill a traditional role she has the right to do so, just as if a woman chooses to get an advanced education and become an entrepreneur she has the right to do that too.

I'm not concerned whether my looks, my choice in footwear, clothes or grooming feed a patriarchal society. I'm concerned about important things that will CHANGE society, like making safety, dignity, respect, equality, education, and opportunity available for women AND men.

Is it idealistic? Of course it is: that's a long road all over the world. But it instantly pisses me off to hear self-righteous bitches judge other women for their choices while there are so many out there that don't HAVE those choices.  Because the "ist" in feminist can all to easily forget that if equality is what we're after, men are equal to us, too.

Updated: in Italy, the Church says it's YOUR fault for your husband beating you. If you cooked/cleaned/wore differnt clothes and were totally dependent on your husband, he wouldn't beat you. Between this article and the Pope's recent assertions that people who "choose" to be gay are denying their humanity (thereby implying GLBT people are less human), I wonder if the Vatican isn't purposefully trying to alienate people. Italians, by the way, are livid over this "if you acted better he wouldn't beat you" crap.

It's a Self-Fulfilling Prophecy!

Not this one: 

Creepy Walken Face Courtesy of IMDB.com

Although I did discover (while wasting time on IMDB.com finding that picture) that the same dude who did Highlander did The Prophecy movies.

Cool.

But no, that's not the prophecy I meant. Nor is the solstice/endoftheworld/apocalypse my subject today, despite "oh god, oh god, we're all gonna die" is tomorrow (according to some weirdo cults).

I meant that while checking my blog traffic stats today I found that the post making fun of search phrases to FIND my blog was indeed found by exactly those same phrases AGAIN this week.

Snicker. So now if you search "gargle donkey balls," "not a sex therapist" and other gems, you are sent to a blog post specifically making fun of you for searching those phrases.

Mwahahahaha.

Back to Hell, Demon!

I was observed recently as being...inconsistent...between who I appear to be and who I am. It's a fair observation given by one of the slight handful of people in the world who know the real me, and 100% true in the context of the conversation. This post will likely be long and self-indulgent attempt to reconcile a few of the inconsistencies with bare, painful truth. Feel free to stop reading this and go back to a funny post here.

I AM inconsistent: I present a certain face with certain qualities I admire to the world: strength, self-confidence, surety, humor...all the qualities I think are valued by others. All the things I'd like to be all the time. On rare occasions when I'm feeling particularly good I AM the way I present. On those days I'm funny, clever, happy with myself and my accomplishments so far and enthusiastically passionate about life. In all honesty, those days are treasured rarities in my universe that I'm trying to learn to allow more often. I'd prefer they be the norm, after all.
Most of the time I use my public face as a combination of shield and bolster. It's actually fairly exhausting. Emotional energy is a well, and eventually that well runs low, the flow becomes silty and clogged, and I slow down. I am a person who refreshes the well with periods of relaxing alone-time (books, Lifetime TV, walks, repeated viewings of Gladiator...you know, silly mindless things) not by being with others. I'm actually pretty envious of all you folk who get energized and excited about parties and social situations. I NEED that bit of time every week to sustain. 

The real person underneath is...sigh...well hidden. This causes an issue if I let anyone in past a certain point, because ultimately that person discovers I've been untruthful about who I really am all along, and that's probably unfair. How can I be enough and loved just as I am if you can't see what I REALLY am until it's too late? Ah, conundrums that feed the demons.

It's something I've been working on for a long time, actually, when I have enough in my emotional well to work on myself. Sometimes, the well just fucking dries up. I've worked on myself enough to USUALLY be able to head the bastard off at the pass before he weasels his way into my brain like a fucking Khan earworm. Sometimes I fail.

Today I've failed. Since it's the Holidays and that's likely a part of the depression heavily holding me down, I envision it as this:


Holiday cheer my ASS. I'm coming for you...



Last night the same someone said "I wish I could go back and find the bastard(s) who made you feel so worthless and ..." well, the graphically violent nature of the comment probably doesn't need to be repeated. It was one of those things most people would likely be horrified and offended by, but was an utterly sweet thing to say to me.

I know where my self-loathing comes from. I know where the unworthiness comes from. I also know the reason I'm still here after those feelings hit me in wave after wave is something my dad said to me once when I was really young: suicide is the most selfish thing you can do to those who love you. All the bullying, all the nastiness, all the isolation that fed my genetic pre-disposition to depression is tempered by that statement, because I've always been more concerned with others' feelings than my own. It's another point of contention between me and the few insiders who know me best (I don't take care of myself if someone else needs me, which is stupid and harmful). My point is: I'm not in suicidal danger. I'm just not taking sufficient care of myself to avoid the hit right now.

The Bloggess posts often about depression, how it lies and how hard it is to live with repeated bouts. I so utterly agree, but I don't have any answers about how to successfully beat the bastard down either. Knowing WHY he arrives doesn't always give me enough to defeat him. The past few months have been so utterly emotionally exhausting I haven't been able to refill my well, which left me open to that sneaky bastard. And so I force myself to get out of bed and drive to work and hope I can stop any pressing tears (yeah, Scandahoovians don't cry without red, splotchy faces and puffy eyes) and bury myself in work for the day.   Only today is a no-meeting-not-much-to-do day and the conversation I had last night was intense enough that I can't push it aside until I'm home. Today, I'm trying to STOP thinking about all the evil lying shit depression says in my head and concentrate on rediscovering what makes me feel valuable, worthy, fulfilled, passionate and happy.  

My friend Superbetsy sent me this about depression today: The bloggess calls depression a lying bastard. When it tries to take me down, I lie right back to it. I put on a shit ton of makeup and sing loudly and look at pictures of puppies. If it can tell us falsehoods, we can do the same. BECAUSE IM A GREAT SINGER, DAMMIT!

This post isn't any sort of request for validation, compliments, or anything of the sort. I've written about this many times before privately and it's done nothing: maybe taking the risk of putting it out here will make some difference in my heart. If not, at least any reader also battling that bastard will know they're not alone in the fight.

Dude. Really. You should ride that ride.

In a surreal afternoon event, I've had a quote a friend said to me two years ago at Renaissance Festival running maddeningly hilarious circles through my head.

A group of us took the day off one particularly pleasing afternoon to wander like idiots and drink ourselves silly. Indeed, mission accomplished for Husband and the other friends involved. I opted to drive because I'm a compassionate goddess of fun a fucking lightweight who gets horrifically debilitating hangovers. Therefore, I was titled Wrangler of Drunks for the day.

And it was fabulously entertaining...I'm not actually being snarky. Husband and two friends, H and B (both former security ociffers) ran stumbled around the festival, harassing participants/entertainers/dogs/random trees and having a grand time. I followed at a safe distance (so I wouldn't trip one of them for entertainment purposes by accident.

Ultimately, we connected with another former security dude...FUCK this gets confusing without names. Let's call him Z (whom we all adore in all his zombie-loving, pink bathrobe wearing, chocolate fountain ruining glory) with whom H had previously tangled. Apparently said tangling was...quite satisfactory.

She insisted that I NEED to ride that ride.  It became a thing between the four of us, and for some reason all day today my brainpan has had "seriously Jess, you should ride that ride" bouncing around.

I am amused.

If that isn't enough entertainment: Now Read These:

Wanderlust Guide: Childhood Birthday at Sybaris Pool Suites Hilarious. Enough said.

Superbetsy: How the "meme" started. I don't agree with the aftereffects of eating bacon, but the rest is pretty damn spot on. And funny as hell.

Whorrified: Because I Would Give My Eye Teeth To See That Prenup Oh...lordy. "Hugh Hefner, aged two hundred eleventy..."