Ch-ch-ch-changes

Sorry all, but due to the overwhelming, and ANNOYING, amount of spam this site has endured, WWM has now become a designated contributor site only. What does that mean? Well, if you'd like to post then you'll either have to rely on step 2, or email us with a valid email address and we can add you on the roll of contributors. Sorry about this lameness, but blame spam!! Evil, evil, spam! ThanX.

And thank you to all those steady and diligent posters!! You're awesome!!!

Hey, Good Lookin'

The truth is that I love cooking for my boyfriend. Maybe I shouldn't, being a feminist and all. Maybe I ought to curl my lip and sneer each time he rolls his eyes upwards at me, like a hopeful puppy in search of a treat. I'm not your mother. I'm not the maid. There's the stove. There are the pans. You're a grown man - feed yourself.

I could say that ... but I don't think being a feminist means you're not allowed to look at a grocery store. Being independent means exactly that - you support yourself and that includes nourishment. I'm not the maid, but I don't employ one, either. Don't fret for me - Fifi's dinners would only pale in comparison to mine. The woman just doesn't love it like I do. And I do love it. What I love even more is how much he loves it.

I suppose it’s not so horrible. After all, I loved cooking for my (very female) college roommates, too. Cooking has always been one of my favorite ways to show affection. After graduation, it’s true that I relished the freedom of living alone but I must admit that there was very little excitement in the way of eats in those days. After all, what’s the fun in cooking for your lonesome? None, not even when your tupperware-d homemade dinners lure your co-workers to your desk, sniffing in envy. Ah, but serving up something lovely to a hungry boy who greedily scarfs down every bite? That’s pleasure.

The other day, my boyfriend told me that he is thrilled when I tell him I’m cooking dinner, that my "come hungry!" texts send him into a tizzy of wonderment. I freely admit the confession made me giddy with delight.

You see, my take on it is that my love of cooking for this man isn’t about female submission; it’s about female dominance. I’ve tasted the man’s cooking and clearly, I am the King of the World.

sigh

Just when I thought that I didn't have anymore hate in my heart to give...they (evil corp. networks) go & give Denise Richards her own show. Her personality is cancerous, and she is a terrible representation of a strong, independent female figure. Sigh. Apocalypse, I'm awaitin'!

Monthly

If I may ... at the risk of sounding crude ....

Three Reactions to Receiving One's Monthly Visitor

• Thank god.
• Ugh, this again.
  

and, the nearer you are to 35:

• Well, there goes another one.
  

It gets more and more like that each month.

What a pretentious bitch!

I'm still laughing. Allow me to explain the title of the blog entry: One of my friends told me this over the weekend after I told him about one of the questions I have been considering as my date-screening question. E.g., the question that helps me determine where to categorize potential dates and romantic interests. It would not necessarily be the ice-breaker question, but something to be asked in the second or third conversation or something.

This is the most honest feedback I got about it so far. And after a discussion and more careful thinking, I concur. "What is your favorite NPR program?" IS pretty pretentious and could make a potentially awesome guy get up and walk away in disgust, whether he listens to NPR or not. In my defense, I knew this when I developed the question... it is more a question to gauge how he responds. Knowing what NPR is and which program he likes is not as important as how this question is answered. I've asked it 3 times so far, all via online chat, actually. All 3 responded with "hahaha" or "lol." I bet the thought that immediately followed the question was, "What kind of girl asks that kind of date-screening question?" Or more specifically, "What a pretentious bitch!" :)

In conclusion, I am in the middle of crafting a new date-screening question. I'm going to test out, "What is your favorite beer [sub: ice cream]?" Am I lowering my standards too much?

Porn on your partner's computer

Link located in title. I tend to agree with most of the blogger's points and feelings about the place of porn in a relationship. Divine Caroline is a great site!

Denim Day in LA 2008

http://www.denimdayinla.org/

Peace Over Violence is proud to present the 10th Annual Denim Day in LA 2008, a campaign to raise awareness and educate the public about rape and sexual assault. It takes place on Wednesday April 23, 2008.
In 1998, an Italian Supreme Court decision overturned a rape conviction because the victim wore jeans. People all over the world were outraged. Wearing jeans became an international symbol of protest against erroneous and destructive attitudes about sexual assault.
Last year, on Denim Day an unprecedented 300,000 people signed up to wear jeans in support of raising awareness about the need to end sexual violence. This year we aim to at least double that amount.
This day in the schools, offices and streets of Los Angeles County we unite against rape of girls, women, boys and men. We stand in support of survivors. We break the silence to end sexual violence.
On Denim Day in LA wear your jeans as a visible sign of protest against the myths that still surround sexual assault!

http://www.peaceoverviolence.org/

Betty, Betty, Betty

My turn to post something belated yet fantastic! I realize this clip is several weeks old but I can't help it - I live in Japan and don't find out about this stuff until it's too late. Still, relevance is relevance.

I present to you Betty White on the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson - vital, looking fantastic, sharp as a tack, smashing expectations, and - at 86 - still relevant. May we all achieve the same.

Natalie Portman is my hero (for today).

This is old (circa 2006), but I still thought it hilarious.

The Hypocrisies of the Day

1. For all the moaning and crying I did about how I never felt my mother accepted me for who I was, I certainly do my share of not accepting her for who she is, either.
   
2. I tell everyone I'm from New York City, but I'm really from backwater Florida - I just lived in New York for 8 years. I call New York City my home town because it's the only place that ever really felt like it. But it's not. Not really.
   
3. I tell people I'm a writer but I'm not - I'm an English teacher who has never published anything creative.
   
4. I've complained about high maintenance women my whole life but recently realized I've had 3 professional massages this year.
   
5. After 2 months of doing my best to eat organic and preaching the evils of enriched wheat, I'm back to eating as much junk as I ever did before. Somewhat like my year-long stint of boycotting all animal-tested products. "Blah blah blah" - that's the sound my self-righteous gibberish.
   

That'll do for now. Really. That'll do.

Dealbreakers

I was having a conversation with some friends about stinky feet in a movie theatre and the subject shifted to things that a person would do/be in order for us to not call them back after the first date... or break up with them if we were together. So i started contemplating my own list of "dealbreakers." i didn't really need to have one for the past 15 years of serial monogamy, so i decided it was time to put it in concrete terms for my adventures in dating. Here's what I have so far (feel free to add to this--it should be a lively discussion):

Depression
Drug or alcohol addiction
For these two, it's a matter of being an equal partner in a relationship. It's really unfair for one person to be the Rock all of the time. Love and emotional support should balance out.

Treats people like shit, a.k.a. asshole
Openly violent and adamantly racist, sexist, anti-gay statements
These things are ugly. I was talking to a guy recently about making dinner plans. Went something like this--
K: Where do you want to go for dinner? I know of a really good place for cheap.
Guy: Why don't we just meet at my house and you can cook for me? I'm hungry.

Ugly grill: to the point of tooth decay, gum disease and halitosis
Shorter than me
Yes, yes, call me a superficial bitch, but I think these things are important for intimacy. (e.g. kissing while standing) I'm not that tall to begin with, so it would be some feat to be shorter than me.

If he tries to tell me who i can see/talk to/hang out with
It's such a turn off for my partner to tell me what to do or how to live my life, especially if he says he doesn't want me to hang out with certain friends. If you don't trust me, stay away. If you're controlling, stay away.

If he hates my family.
It's somewhat bearable if my family thinks he's only so-so, but if he adamantly hates any member of my family for it he needs to go. It goes back to treating people with dignity and respect.

Bedroom incompatibility
Goes without saying.


That's all I have so far. I'd love to hear your stories!

Cupcakes

... I'm jealous.

Decade - a Post Named After My Favorite Duran Duran Album Which I Was Listening to Compulsively 10 Years Ago

10 years ago today, February 6th, 1998, I was waiting frantically by the computer, hoping AbwehrKanone66 would come online. It was his birthday - I wanted to wish him a happy one and see if he'd gotten the birthday card and stuffed manatee I'd sent him. AbwehrKanone66 was, for all intensive purposes, my first love - really an infatuation but at 18 and in the throes of infatuation's passionate grip for the first time ever, I didn't know the difference. We were meant to be.

AbwehrKanone66 appeared. He had gotten my gift and was thrilled. I never thought I could be so happy - I was basking in the glow of what I felt was a mutual, loving attraction. When things went terribly wrong shortly thereafter, I was gutted, devastated, took to wearing black from head to toe and lost 25 pounds in a matter of weeks. I started college weighed down by a pall of heartbroken misery and constantly thought back to the few short months when things had seemed beautiful. I thought, too, about the stupid manatee - a complete waste of caring sentiment on such a lying, cheating manchild.

With time, things improved, as they always do. I slowly began to date - first, a college sweetheart and, after our breakup, strings of pompous, drunken New York City nimrods. I suffered through another lethal unrequited infatuation at the age of 23 and once rid of that, like a mangy dog shaking off its aggressive fleas, I tried my hand at dating again only to be annoyed by more New York City idiots. At 26, I swore off romance for good. I was, after all, heterosexual poison. My history had shown me no other possibility.

One and a half years after that declaration, and 10 years to the day after I waited, pining by the computer, for the ultimately poisonous and deceitful AbwehrKanone66 to flash onto my screen, my boyfriend and I gave a real estate agent our "okay" for an apartment we would like to move into. It is more than twice the size of the ones we live in now, half the price, and in a location mere steps away from the train station. Best of all, we get to be together all the time.

We're crazy about each other. My parents will each surely give birth to identical white mewling kittens when they discover my plans but after much thought, moving in with my long, lean Irish beau only seems natural.

This, I could never have imagined.

Are you a pink, or a blue state?

Sheer stimulation encircles my brain, and a deep delight cradles my heart as I behold a female and African American vie for democratic presidency. We can finally see the fruits of the feminist and civil rights movements being plucked from such an overripe crop as Hillary and Obama reach for a previously Anglo-male prize.

Yet, over-zealous “hurrahs” do not draw me to my key pad. What intrigues me about the 2008 presidential race is that despite both aspirants representing marginalized groups, are the age old partialities of men vs. women still rooted deeply among voters? Is patriarchy still plaguing America’s collective consciousness and, I wonder, does gender bias exceed racial discrimination.

I don’t know.

If past instances are a precedent for today’s outcomes, then a person could conclude that Mississippi’s Hiram Revels, the first black male to be elected senator in 1870 and Arkansas’ Hattie Caraway, the first female, voted senator in 1932, shows that an African American male was revered as a more suitable candidate for politics before a female. Similarly, the 14th and 15th amendments gave black males the right to vote 50 years before women, showing that racial barriers are not made from the same materials as gender bias.

Still, what true feelings resonate in the hearts of American voters?

In Faye Fiore & Peter Nicholas’ recent LA Times article, The question that almost wasn't asked , a New Hampshire woman, Marianne Pernold Young, asked Hillary during a Q&A, "As a woman, I know it's hard to get out of the house and get ready. My question is very personal. How do you do it?" Hillary’s response was a misty eyed, “It's not easy, it's not easy,” which highlighted her softer side, and gave way to a response about her sincerity in wanting to shape a better America. Pernold Young sympathized with Clinton. Who wouldn’t, right?

In my private life I feel the constant pressure to appear put together and without normal human weakness. And, as a woman in the work force, I have had male bosses spout, “Women are too emotional…irrational,” and “I’ve never understood women.” Thus, I try to iron out the emotional creases in my public-self so that my male counterparts can shed the idea of me being overemotional and therefore, the weaker sex. And, when I try to show empathy, I’m often viewed as being motherly; when I show openness, I’m the over-sensitive girl. Conversely, if I stand my ground or delegate, I’m bitchy; when I remain resolute, I’m cold and unresponsive. Likewise, as soon as Clinton shed her vulnerable side and delved back into serious political issues, Pernold Yound was disenchanted and decided to vote for Obama.

Why the drastic turn?

After Clinton’s choked up response, Times writers posed the query: Had [Clinton] managed to appear human without appearing frail? Fiore and Nicholas unwittingly salted the issue of an ongoing female plight: Is it possible to resolve the Betty Crocker vs. crazy bitch dichotomy? To put it more mildly, can a woman resolve showing sensitivity, or vulnerability without appearing weak, and can she be firm without being labeled unhuman? Can a woman cohesively blend her stern and sensitive sides while still managing to escape being dubbed as either devoid of feeling, or a frail, overemotional train wreck?

A woman is multifaceted, but if she hints at vulnerability and sheds a tear or two, she’s judged as someone who fuels decisions and strategies with emotion and not rationalization. And when she shows objective, hardnosed strategy she is deemed impassive or as Simone points out amid her post, a bitch. These aspects upset me.

I am upset that the compartmentalization or polarizations of female facets leave womankind stranded on and Isle of suppressed potential. It upsets me that, especially in public, a woman has to appear put together and without flaw but at the same time be a non-threatening, sensitive, mother-like figure; ironically, when a woman tries to toggle back and forth between the two personas she alienates those around her who want Marry Poppins in combat boots, but can’t handle the reality of such a figure.

Listen, I’m not trying to box everyone in, or claim that the whole U.S. feels the way Pernold Young, or whoever else might feel. I’m merely exploring one of the hardships that women (in power) endure. And yes, I’m fully aware that racism rages on to this day. Maybe I’m wrong on all accounts of such bias…I hope so.

Also, my intentions were not to espouse my political agenda or rally for a certain candidate because, truthfully, I’m not sure who I’ll cast my vote for. For me, at the end of the day, it’s not woman vs. man. I follow right vs. wrong and besides, what kind of feminist would I be if I didn’t follow truth and righteous.

"stop bein' a bitch and come on!"

i am in the process of recording some voices for a short animated piece. as the only woman involved in this process, i was the only one who was dismayed to read the word "bitch" in the script, in reference to a woman. (there's also an exchange involving the phrase "don't rape me!" which i absolutely refuse to say...but that's a whoooooole 'nother story...)

with a number of other colorful expletives at our disposal in this day and age, why is it that 'bitch' is always the default insult hurled at women?

when i meditate upon my own usage of the term, i realize i use it for two distinct purposes:
1) in a self-deprecating manner, when referring to behavior i am not proud of, e.g., "god, i am being such a bitch right now!"
2) when describing a man who is displaying behavior i believe to be unacceptable. please refer to exhibit a, the title of this post, which is a direct quote from the 90's film friday.

i feel no qualms about using 'bitch' to refer to myself or men i dislike, but i am careful not to use it in reference to other women, even those who i may dislike with a fervent passion. in my mind, doing so would be out of line with my feminist ideals. bitch, like slut, is a word that i try to avoid using, period...well, except when it is used to describe a man or men, in which case i use it with reckless abandon! (what a sexist hypocrite i am!)

all of this makes me think about 'bitch' is defined in our culture. to me, it seems that bitchy women are usually conceived of as those who either a) possess too many 'manly' characteristics (assertive, bold, tough), or b) are just evil and conniving in ways that only women can be (epitome of the mean-ass woman from hell). with this in mind, my conception of the male bitch turns the former definition on its head. a bitchy man is weak and lacks figurative balls - characteristics generally attributed to women, but in my definition only describes a particular breed of jackass man. in plain and simple terms, he's a weenie and a wimp.

this whole thing feels somehow connected to the way in which i delight in using male-derived phrases like "don't break my balls" or happily commenting that badass girls with moxie "have cohones." it's too bad i don't derive the same pleasure from reciting sassy phrases referring to my own, true female anatomy...why is that? maybe one day, i'll be confident and bold enough to say things like, "i got tits" and have it not be a sexual thing...but will there ever be a day when women's bodies will become less hypersexualized? sigh. not likely, in my book.

in the end, i managed to have 'bitch' removed from the scene in question. it was replaced with a snide, sneering 'sweetheart'...such a small victory, but a feather in my cap nonetheless!


* special thanks to taberlykim for writing the grrrreat piece below, which finally inspired me to get off my behind and WRITE SOMETHING! you are a badass, and you definitely have cohones! *

Marking the occasion

This feels like a post for women's writes....

I finally decided, now with more conviction than ever, how I want to permanently mark my body. It was my second to last day in Saigon and it came to me so clearly as I lay, meditating about the meaning of my trip and my direction in life. Colorful: like orange red fire with blue and green accents. About the size of a pomelo's diameter. Think: art like that of Chris Nunez on Miami Ink, Right shoulder blade. Kickass.

Background info lifted from web research, which I did after I had my revelation:
The Phoenix is usually depicted as a bird of great beauty and luxuriant plumage. In mythology (probably mix of western and eastern) the Phoenix would build a nest of aromatic twigs, set fire to itself, and be consumed in the funeral pyre of it's own making. After three days the Phoenix would arise from the ashes, reborn. The phoenix represented the victory of life over death.

As a tattoo symbol, the Phoenix can be found in many tattoo genres, but of the Far East in particular. It is a symbol of resurrection, rebirth and regeneration. It also represents purification and transformation through fire and adversity.

. . .

My exact thought/resolution was that I was to be fabulous from that point on, to show the world what I am and what I have to offer without reservation. It was such an empowering thought. At the beginning of January, I symbolically proposed marriage to myself and now I want something to show the world how fierce I can be, and a reminder of my commitment.

My life is for me. And instead of wondering whether I'm #3 or #347 on another's priority list, I will be my own #1 Girl.

Check Yourself

The latest news from back home is that a former co-worker of mine, a 32-year old woman, was just diagnosed with breast cancer.

By now, we've all heard that breast cancer strikes earlier and earlier but, for me at least, it was an urban legend; the stuff of made-for-TV movies and Marie Claire articles. This is the first time it's ever hit close to home.

Check yourself, girls.

That Darn Biological Urge ...

Among the many things I have done in attempts to rid myself of my stubborn, disgusting acne:

• visited 4 dermatologists
• used various topical ointments
• taken various antibiotics
• taken birth control
• entertained religious thoughts
• used at-home peels
• wasted thousands of dollars on over-the-counter products
• applied masks made of aspirin, egg yolk and honey
• trolled acne message boards day and night
• learned how to read cosmetic product ingredient lists in search of comedogenic components
• performed wildly unsuccessful "acne surgery" at home
• exfoliated with Scotch tape
• used unknown acne supplements from skincare boutiques
• used vinegar, straight, as a toner
• swallowed vinegar
• gone on a no wheat/no dairy/no processed sugars/no junk food diet

The last attempt is the most recent, borne out of desperation. Despite all my attempts, the acne is still there after 15 years and thousands of dollars and I've recently noticed a good bit of ice pick scarring on my cheeks; hence the no-holds-barred stab at altering my diet. Despite being loved by friends and family and having a boyfriend who constantly tells me I'm sexy, I'm feeling uglier than I have in decades.

As I fret, research, put extra effort into my appearance to distract from the spots and eschew a delicious pasta product that I crave, I sometimes think to myself how fortunate I really must be. Not fortunate to have persistent and ugly acne, of course, but fortunate enough to have such an easy life that I can become obsessed with my looks. Witness: in researching volunteer projects I'd like to take part in next year, not ONE of the "relief" projects in Tanzania, Cambodia, Costa Rica or Chile involves "Bolstering Self Esteem" or "Sexy Makeovers."

I soothe my guilt by telling myself that my vanity is a biological urge and cannot be helped. Species are driven to carry on their genes and they do this through natural selection. I must be fit if I am to be considered a desirable partner for DNA recombination. No one, I am sure, will want to chance passing on skin like mine. Or turkey thighs like mine. Or my puffy hair.

So there. I do not combat disease or hunger or bad breakups or financial misery but I do plenty of combat in the fight to carry on my genes.

Now back to the vinegar and green vegetables .....

Hell yeah

Great News, curvy women! I'm so glad I broke out of the eating disorder phase of my negative body image issues.

(click on the title of the post)

New, Old

It is strange to look at the scuffed, painful, ugly and dowdy shoes in my closet and remember a time many years ago when I first spied them in the store window and stopped short, heart in throat, wondering just who at Nine West had read my mind and produced the exact black leather pumps with round toes and 4 inch high stacked heels that I had been dreaming of. 

And I would rather walk the spit, dust and gum-strewn streets barefoot than wear them now.