Thoughts on Reconstructive Surgery After Mastectomy

I've written before about my experience with a breast tumor, having it removed, and specifically telling the surgeon that I did NOT want reconstruction on my breast other than a tidy scar.* I'm really very small chested, 32A, and while my adolescence and early twenties were difficult, I've come to appreciate my itty bitty titties. So, when faced with the terror of possible cancer, I just wanted it out of me as soon as possible. Some friends thought it was silly of me not to get implants, because I would be knocked out anyway, spread out on a table with my boob cut open. Honestly, I didn't want to live life with big boobs. I'd worked so hard to accept my IBTs that I didn't want to throw it away. Not to mention that my recovery from a lumpectomy would be difficult enough without bags of saltwater sloshing around.

Following the Twisty Faster philosophy, I have since found myself disapproving of women who have reconstruction after a mastectomy. If I were to find myself getting a mastectomy, I probably wouldn't get reconstruction. I feel like women place too much importance on breasts because the patriarchy tells them that their value is wrapped up in their fuckability. People are so offended by boobless women because they force people to think about women as human beings who have feelings, struggles, illnesses, and probably a lot of other qualities we can't gather just by looking. I'm reminded of the movie "Pieces of April" where the mother, who is suffering through chemotherapy after a mastectomy, shows the senile grandmother a picture of her topless after her surgery, which was taken by the son. The grandmother is disgusted at the photo, which the mother treasures because it was taken by her son and quite beautifully done. The mother was proud of her son's talent and love, and the grandmother was just disgusted that she would put her booblessness on display.

I thought that women should be proud of mastectomy scars, and that they should show them so that people weren't so shocked to see a boobless woman. But today, reading Amanda's post about an article on the Details blog, I read a comment by Mnemosyne that really made me reconsider:

If you’d had, say, your ear removed because of cancer, no one would think it was bizarre for you to want to have something that at least vaguely resembled what had been there. But breasts have been so sexualized that some people have gone too far the other way and declared that replacing a missing body part is bowing to the patriarchy.

You know, she's right. If it were any other part of my body, I would most likely want reconstruction. If I lost my nose, or my lips, I'd want to have them rebuilt. If I had a giant chunk of flesh taken out of my body because of melanoma, I'd want to have reconstruction. So why was I so critical of breast reconstruction? I think this is what happens when body parts are sexualized -- we rebel against this sexualization by denying them existence. Is this a rational response? I don't know. I applaud the women who protest bans on toplessness by going topless, just to prove to people that breasts are not sexual by nature, but have been sexualized by our culture. We have internalized the sexuality of breasts so much that we even joke about babies loving the boobs.** What we forget is that babies love the boobs because they are the natural food source, not because they're pretty. It all boils down to the fact that sexualizing body parts is harmful to everyone and should never be taken lightly.

*My father, always the joker, was sitting by my bed as I was coming out of anesthesia. The first thing he said to me was, "Wow, they made your boobs huge!" Not. Funny. But so typical of my father's sense of humor.

**I'm really thinking of those stupid "Look Who's Talking" movies, which I refuse to link to. Talk about reinforcing gender norms!

Is Bell's Palsy a Feminist Issue?

Hearing recently that Amy Goodman of Democracy Now! has Bell's Palsy, I was pleased to see her write about her experience in Alternet. Her story is very matter of fact, like much of her writing and other commentary, and I am proud to be in such good company. The story also had me asking an important question: Is Bell's Palsy a feminist issue?

After last week's post about the woman who wrote to Cary Tennis asking why she deserved Bell's, I've been thinking about it a lot. (A flare up in my residual spasming contributed a little, too.) So I've been talking to friends about it, and they have all said that they are amazed at my will to keep living my life as normally as I could through the worst of it. To which I have to answer, "Why would I stop living my life as normally as I could? Isn't that what we are supposed to do during a non-life threatening illness?"

One friend really brought it home for me. She said that it would devastate her, even though she saw me in the worst of my paralysis and didn't think I looked all that bad. But she feels uncomfortable leaving her house if her hair looks bad, or if she has a zit, or if she feels fat; how could she possibly brave the world with half of her face seemingly sliding off? For me, it was a no-brainer. My life couldn't wait for me to get over what was essentially a cosmetic condition. (Of course, that caught up with me when my facial muscles started to burn with pain and my ear became inflamed. There is a reason that the doctor tells you to rest!)

So, are we pushing women too far toward perfection? Are we too judgmental of imperfect women? Even my father will make insulting comments about women on TV who have a crooked tooth, asymmetrical eyes, or a big nose. I feel like my Bell's Palsy was a chance for me to face the world and force people to value me based on my personality, my intellect, all that stuff that really counts. I also realized that some people, complete strangers, were offended by my imposing my lopsided face on them. I got some of the rudest "Smile, dammit" comments I'd ever received. It all reinforced the idea that women are still considered decorative in our culture, as objects to be gazed upon, as if I were required to perform for men at all times. And I simply could not do that with Bell's Palsy.

I hope that most people with Bell's Palsy would take it as much in stride as possible, like I did. Unfortunately, after the Salon letter last week, I know that is not the case, and that there are women who are devastated by what is basically a temporary paralysis that is never life threatening. Vibrant women should not let facial paralysis cause emotional paralysis. I hope that someday, women will not be put under impossible pressure to maintain impossible beauty, and that they will embrace the flaws that life has given them. After all, my smile will always be wonky now, and my right eye will always close when I saw certain words. Such is Bell's Palsy, and I refuse to hide under a rock just to make people more comfortable.

Bell's Palsy Sufferers of the World, Unite and Take Over! ;-,

My Itty Bitty Titties

Working for "The Man"

I work for "The Man."

Of course, as an academic librarian, I'm not working to make some godlike CEO a profit, since academic institutions are nonprofit. But I still feel like I am part of that culture of profit, slaving away at a job while giving little thought to my actual life. I talked with my mother the other day about this, about how we spend most of our waking hours at a job that we may or may not like. I admire self-employed folks who use their talents to support themselves. An artist has an opportunity to do what s/he loves and make a wage for it. Granted, these folks usually have to take a vow of poverty, but why is it that we are so afraid of simpler lives and automatically shudder at the thought of living on less?

With all of the talk about Linda Hirschman's latest New York Times article, encouraging women to go back to work after having children, I have been wondering if this is "the" answer to female equality. Some of the talk on feminist blogs has centered around how arrogant Hirschman's manifesto is, that many women do not enjoy their work and would rather stay home with the kid for a couple of years. Or that many women do not make high enough wages in the first place to justify a regular babysitter, so they are actually saving money by staying home with the kid for a couple of years. Or that many women really don't even have an option to stay home with the kid for a couple of years, because they are a single mother, or because they need the health insurance, or because dad doesn't make enough to support the whole family because minimum wage in this country does not equal a living wage. Is our current work model broken?

Considering someone like my brother, I think it is. At times, it seems to me that my brother is nothing more than a wage slave to his family. He has three small children, with his wife staying home to take care of them. She could go to work, but with the three kids, they would likely lose money in the process, and they see no point in working for the sake of working. That's a respectable choice. Nobody should be a wage slave. Not in this country, and not in 2007. But we all are.

I work in academia, and plan to do so after my radical life change. I am lucky, because college campuses tend to be more progressive, and are more flexible with family emergencies. It is not uncommon to see a professor's children running up and down the halls of an academic building or quietly read at a table in the library, something which can brighten up my day in an instant. But you would not see that at a for-profit workplace. There is a strict divide between work life and family life. Family matters do not belong in the workplace, yet we have no problems bringing work matters into our family lives. Blackberry, anyone?

Being a woman who wants to have kids someday fairly soon, this is something that is at the forefront of my mind, because the idea of this either-or choice scares me. I am lucky in that I will most likely have a family friendly workplace at that time, and will be able to combine a comfortable professional life with a thriving family life. But I think of the other women and men who are not as fortunate. Where is their safety net when the kid comes down with the flu and needs a parent to stay home and make sure s/he doesn't dehydrate? Currently, we don't have one, and the Hirschmans of the world don't really care. Because we should be striving for that cushy lifestyle that we see advertised endlessly on TV while neglecting time with family, or working our collective asses to the bone to outsource our childcare, for what I'm not exactly sure.

The work structure in this country needs to change. Don't force dads into the wage slave role, which in turn disengages them from family matters, simply because they are the traditional breadwinners. (Pay equity would be a good start.) Don't just give women the false "choice"* between a) staying at home and being castigated by feminists for "opting out" of the workforce or b) working and being castigated by fellow mothers for neglecting the children. Part of the solution is to drive society toward a less materialistic lifestyle of power-hungry over-consumption and to place more value on relationships with our families, friends, neighbors, pets. Make the public and private spheres less divided, and start to allow real life circumstances to be considered in the workplace. Not only will this make people happier and possibly cut down on anxiety and depression, but it will also make our way of life more environmentally sustainable. In the end, women will have a real choice about what to do with their lives. There are a whole myriad of other problems to sort out in the meantime, such as health care, living wage, and pay equity, to name a few. But change starts in the grass, folks, which is why I wrote this post.

* I don't think women really do have a choice, because cultural and financial pressures usually force women to make these "choices".

Virginia Tech Shootings: The Misogynist Angle

There's been a lot of talk about gun control in light of the VT shootings this week. That's highly understandable, and it's a necessary discussion to have. I do not want to address that because I am terrified of guns. As a girl, spending the night at a friend's house, I had a gun pointed at me by an intruder that forced his way into the bedroom while we were sleeping. That pretty much turned me off from guns, considering there was no way to defend myself. So I am not going to address that issue here. (Others are doing a very fine job.)

I do want to address how misogynist this act was and how our society rarely acknowledges the danger stalkers present to their victims. Lifetime movies and romance novels will describe stalking as a form of flattery, often with the woman either giving in to pressure or ending up maimed/dead before anyone pays attention. Unfortunately, this reflects real society as well.

Part of what triggered the VT shooter was rejection from a female love interest. I have no doubt that it played a major part in his rage, acting as a tipping point in a life filled with disappointment, confusion, and despair. But these feelings do not form in a vacuum. Obsessive thoughts/feelings are a product of enculturation, or, rather, what you obsess over is determined by your culture. Our patriarchy sends a rather clear message to men that they deserve the affection and attention of the women of their choosing. Just read any MRA or Nice Guy's blog post or comment. Now that I'm reading reports* that the other victim in the dorm (aka "Stack") may have been the love interest's SO, I can't help but think that a hefty sense of entitlement was at play.

I'm quite certain that other factors triggered this rampage. Could the shooter have "snapped" in the same way if the situation with the love interest had ended differently? I'm sure he could have. But we have just seen, not only through the rampage itself, but through the violent writing and stalking behavior of the shooter, just how much he valued female life. That would be not at all.

Another point I'd like to make is that the campus and Blacksburg police did not deem a "domestic shooting" urgent enough to lock down campus. That sends a very clear message to victims of domestic violence, or, females**, that when a partner physically harms them it isn't as serious as if a stranger had harmed them. Some have argued that in a domestic dispute, the perpetrator rarely targets anyone outside the relationship. That may be true. But if the police had locked down campus, they would have had a better chance of catching the shooter because he would have had a much harder time escaping. What all of this tells me is that the police simply were not that concerned about someone DYING because it was the result of a domestic situation. He only killed his love interest, and apparently that doesn't count as a real murder. Because we all know the pain of unrequited love, right? RIGHT?

Sisters, we have a long way to go.

* I'm very reluctant to believe much about the personal histories of the victims, especially the dorm victims, at this time. Our media are too quick to get the story on the wire to really check facts, thus creating a vicious rumor mill.

** Before you send me a nasty message arguing this point, YES, I realize that men can be victims of domestic violence. However, the overwhelming majority of victims are female, and I am working with generalizations here.

Taking back our streets

I know, I know, I said I was taking a vacation, but I had to put in a plug for a new blog, Don't Be Silent. Read Golden Silence's intro post here. It's DC based, but I think we can all identify. Even myself, currently living in a town with a population of less than 7,000.

I really hope that this tide of anger at street harrassment continues, and that society starts to hold these creeps accountable. I refuse to feel like I can't walk the streets of my town safely and comfortably.

A Lesson for the Men

Not that any of the four people that read my blog are men, but just in case.

A couple of weeks ago on a Saturday, I was walking home from (of all places) the hair salon. There's a stretch of road that's a little busy before I get to my apartment, and I usually avoid it with a shortcut, but construction has recently blocked that shortcut. I'm forced to use the busy stretch of road.

As I was walking this stretch of road home, not once, but TWICE, I was whistled and hollered at. I was wearing baggy jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers. My hair was wet, because I don't like having my hair blowdried, and in a scrunchy. No makeup. No jewelry. Minding my own business.

I was quite unnerved by being harassed by drivers as I was minding my own business on a gorgeous day, walking home and enjoying the sun. I told one of my male friends about it. I asked him if he had/would ever do anything like that, and he said no. But then he said something that really pissed me off. He said, "Hey, at least you're getting some attention. I don't get whistled at, and I'd be really flattered if some girl whistled or hollered at me from her car." So I asked him why he'd never whistled at a woman walking down the street, and he answered that it isn't a great way to get a date, and that he's not a jackass.

Ah, but he IS a jackass in another sense. (I do love him dearly, but he's far from a feminist, as interpreted by his insisting on calling women "girls". I intend to bring him to enlightenment.) This is the problem that men have with the whole unwanted attention/street harassment conundrum. Clearly, what happened to me was street harassment. Why? Because the men who whistled and hollered at me were not paying me a compliment on my appearance or trying to let me know that they are interested.

No.

These men were very clearly asserting their power by intimidating me. As I noted before, I was not dressed provocatively. In fact, I was dressed rather sloppily, for comfort only. I had no makeup on to draw attention to eyes, lips, etc. I should also note that I was completely lost in thought, probably looking down at the beginnings of spring flowers popping from the ground.

I hear some of you asking, "But, QuiteContrary, what if this man was really into you, warts and all?" And in return, I have a question for you. What do you think you'll accomplish by whistling or shouting obscenities to a woman walking down the street? Do you really think that I'll swoon and start chasing after your car? Has that worked for you in the past?

Probably not.

Which brings me to my point that these acts can only be interpreted as acts of intimidation. No man ever harasses a woman walking down the street (whether they are in a car, walking past, or sitting on a bench) thinking it's a successful way to get a date, or even compliment a woman. They are simply exercising their patriarchal right to treat a random woman as an object and intimidate her, simply because she has the audacity to be seen alone in public.

A few months ago, while visiting a friend in Washington, DC, I was alone at the National Gallery of Art. I was examining a painting, deep in thought, when I suddenly felt a presence behind me. Okay, someone had personal space issues. They were probably from another country, where personal space is not a huge issue. I can deal with that. Then I felt something hard on my lower back. I knew immediately it was that asshole's dick.

I moved forward. So did he. I went to the next painting, so did he. And he quickly returned to the same position. I exited that room and went to one with a rather nasty looking guard. So did he. And, well, you can guess where he decided to stand. The guard did nothing, even though I know he saw it, considering we were the only two people in the room.

I was terrified.

And I was fucking pissed as hell.

Remembering that I'm tired of being a victim (which I'll write about in a later post) I swiftly turned around, looked him straight in the eye, and asked loudly, "Do I know you?" Luckily, this was enough to send him on his way.

But this proves my point that the motivation behind these acts of harassment are not to compliment a woman or try to get to know her. It is an anonymous intimidation technique. There have been several stories going around the feminist blogosphere about this sort of thing, and I think every woman can identify. And before you try to defend these truly sick fucks by saying that the women you know appreciate this sort of treatment, let me tell you that either you are lying, or the women you are referencing are lying. It's not flattering, it's fucking scary.

It's International Women's Day

Yay. We get a whole day. Men get 364 days, but we can celebrate our day. I think I'll treat myself to some chocolate and red wine through a straw. But first, I'm going to Blog Against Sexism.

A group on my campus (I can't remember who) gave out long stem roses to all of the female faculty and staff. Which was nice, but wasteful and ineffective. (Neither I nor my assistant took one, just because we're crazy feminist bitchez like that.) I hear that there was a coffee and dessert table in the campus commons for the female employees, as well.

Don't get me wrong, I think it's great to have social events with other women. There's a women's faculty group on campus that has great socials off campus, and I always try to go. It's important for women to be free of constraints like caretaking, leering men, feminine speech and manners. We need to be as honest and personal as we feel necessary, which is only comfortable around other women.

I'm just disappointed that roses, dessert and coffee were the only programming. It felt almost like a bribe, "We'll give you some sugar and caffeine, so you can't complain we didn't do anything for IWD!" Where are the poetry slams? The art exhibits? The feminist theory discussion groups? The rallies? This is the perfect day to expose people to the real lives of women, and the real hardships we face as we navigate the workplace while raising our children and husbands, as legislators try to deny us the right to our own bodily autonomy. (I've always said that no man I know could ever be a woman for even a day!)

Many people say that feminism is over, sexism doesn't exist at all. Fuck that. Sure, we're "legally" equal to men, but we still have lots of tiny revolutions left. Shakes Sis had a great post today, and this passage sums it up perfectly:

That we've (mostly) achieved equality under the law and some semblance of sexual liberation doesn't mean sexism is, like, so over. It means that those were the easiest things to accomplish.

The rest is a fuckload harder.

Compared to, for example, eradicating all use of feminine terms to convey weakness, fear, vapidity, or other negative qualities, changing the law so that women can't be fired just for being women was like waving a magic fucking wand—and that's the reality of battling sexism that too many people fail to see. The really endemic, intrinsic sexism expressed in a million "little" ways is what perpetuates inequality—the kind of inequality that makes some guy at the hardware store talk to me like a three-year-old imbecile, but talk to Mr. Shakes like an equal.

And to all the men who accuse feminists of being too hung up on the "little battles" rather than the big ones, I say this: try having your ass grabbed, or getting winked at by your boss, or told to make a pot of coffee by one of your colleagues. Try watching your male colleagues get grant money and promotions more than you, but do half the work. Try having complete strangers order you to smile as you stumble through the last part of your day, in a haze because you've worked 9 hours with no lunch break and have to do some errands before you finally get to go home, just to have more shit to do before you can relax. If you can relax. Try having your government try to punish you for having sex.

Just try it.

Smile, dammit!

There’s been a bit of a kerfuffle in the feminist blogosphere again, this time with regards to those men, wreaking of entitlement issues, who will stop a strange woman on the street and order her to smile. Most of the discussion revolved around the entitlement complex that many men have, and how they act like royalty by demanding their servants (in this case, strange women) to perform for them. Which is certainly a great summation of the entire issue, and one I would not argue with one bit.

But I’d like to go a step further. In our culture, the smiling face is considered the most beautiful and the most welcoming. When someone is happy, we know it by their smile. When someone smiles at us, we take that as a sign that we made them happy. Therefore, when someone is smiling, it really can “spread joy” and makes those nearby happier.* When someone smiles at you, there is a feeling that something you did made that person happy, whether it’s the way you look, how you walk, what you said, how you smell, you get the idea. Most people agree that smiles are a good thing.**

There are large groups of men who still consider women part of the scenery. Any man who goes to a strip club, Hooters, or catcalls women on the street is one of these men. (Which is why I don’t date men who do this.) I’d like to add “men who view pornography,” but that would most definitely put all men in the category, and I’d like to leave my thoughts on porn for another post. When women are expected to wear makeup, do their hair, dress in patriarchy-approved clothing, shave legs at a minimum to be considered part of mainstream society, and men can walk around in sweat stained t-shirts and pants with holes in the crotch as part of normal society, there is a problem.

So, we women still have not gained the status of human being yet, we are still relegated to the company of the sofa, drapes, and ficus. Which brings me back to the “smile, dammit” bit. My thoughts on these fuckers? That they assume they have the right to visual pleasure at any time, and who better to give them visual pleasure than the sex objects they see all day? (I use the term “objects” consciously, because these men don’t see women as anything more than fuckdolls.) I think these assbags get a kick out of demanding a strange woman to smile and seeing her succumb because it shows that he has the power in that exchange.

Most of us women succumb out of fear, or out of outright dumbfoundedness. “Did he really just tell me to smile?” As a woman who has heard this her entire life, it is a great way to ruin a woman’s day. Before my feminist days, I thought there was something wrong with me, and that I was ugly in some way. It made me so insecure. And then I realized something: What if something was really wrong? So the next time it happened, I told the shithead, “My dog just died today, so leave me the fuck alone.”*** The guy was pretty speechless, and I doubt he ever ordered a woman to smile again. I did this a couple of times, in a few different situations. (For example, during a time when I was incredibly thin due to severe depression, people (mostly women) would comment on how thin I was, as if I had no idea. They actually asked me if I ate! Duh! So I started telling people I was on chemotherapy, just to jar them. It worked!) After dealing with these intrusive situations, I realized that the men were not concerned about me and my emotional state, as some “smile demander apologists” would say. If they were truly concerned about my emotional state, and I indeed looked upset, they would ask me if I was okay, or offer some help.

Until men as a gender get the message that women are human, with human emotions and human experiences, I’m afraid we are stuck with teaching them individually that women do not exist for decorative purposes, but as active members of the human species. I’d like to think that, every time I came back with a snarky response to a “smile demander apologist” that an angel got its wings and a misogynist had the epiphany that women are human. Is this a little thing? Sure. But it’s the little things that pile up and up and up until our shoulders break, and women everywhere start to feel beaten down by the patriarchy, ready to give up. All of these little things are related to how we are viewed by men, which is the essence of the patriarchy. If we didn’t correct the men who insist that the female secretary get his coffee, or the men who catcall the woman going to her first day at a new job, or the ever-present ass-pincher, we’d be stuck in a world that women don’t feel comfortable in. A world that would push women back into the private sphere and out of harm and aggravation’s way. I don’t want that. I’ll take my tiny revolutions.

*Except for those weirdoes who keep a permagrin, like my neighbor. In that case, it’s just creepy. People who are happy all the time worry me, as they seem like they could snap at any moment and end up shooting up a roomful of people.

**Disregarding folks from East Asian and other cultures, in which smiling can be a sign of confrontation, a rude display of familiarity, etc.

***My dog was, in fact, peacefully napping at home at the time.

Sisterhood?

Since the publication of this article, the feminist blogosphere has been buzzing with critique of campus Greek life. The article in question describes the National HQ's cleansing of a sorority chapter of its less-than-perfect sisters. In other words, the bigwigs at HQ swooped into this struggling chapter and, rather than help the chapter strengthen its membership in positive ways, like innovative recruiting events, they simply purged the rolls of its members who didn't fit the thin, conventionally pretty, passive, dumb type.

Obviously, this article infuriated me. It's obvious to anyone with feminist tendencies that this was a clear case of sexism, racism, and classism all rolled into one bizarre story. To think that grown women were denied the benefits (that they had paid for) of sorority life because of how they looked makes me ill. One minute, "Won't you join our wonderful group of loving sisters? We'd so love to have you!" and the next minute, "Well, we didn't really mean it."

But it also embarasses me immensely. Why? Because I was in a sorority when I was in college. I've spent a lot of time trying to reconcile my sorority days with my feminist leanings, and all I can say is that my sorority days gave me great insight into how women who are served by the patriarchy can be cruel to other women under the guise of love and sisterhood.

I was nervous about going to college, partly because I had never spent much time away from home, and partly because I was socially insecure. A bit of a rebel, my parents thought that rush would be a great way for me to meet people and find my niche. Besides, they were both in the Greek system in college, and it was great! So, I did it, and I joined a house that was quite diverse ethnically, physically, and intellectually. Even the philosophy of the sorority was feminist, founded on the principle that women should spend the college years learning to be independent and free thinkers.

Looks can be deceiving. After my freshman year of "love" and "sisterhood" and "bonding" I was about to go through rush from the other side. For two weeks before rush, we prepared under the guidance of the rush coordinator: rehearsing skits, memorizing facts about our history, learning songs, making decorations. One day, we were told to try on the dresses that we planned to wear to one of the events. We then had to model our dresses for the coordinator and her committee to make sure it was a tasteful dress. However, once we were in that room with them, the gloves came off. Some of my sisters were told they were too fat to wear spaghetti straps or no sleeves, others that they had to cover tattoos with makeup, and I was told that I had to buy a padded pushup bra because I was too flat chested. It was, in fact, a chance for the committee to prevent an "ugly" disaster.

The next day, we were told to get into a line. The coordinator and a couple of her lackeys started rearranging us in the line. I figured this was a height thing, and that they were lining us up by height for some sort of formation. But then I thought, "We can line ourselves up by height, and it would be a helluva lot faster than this!" And then it hit me: they were lining us up by attractiveness. One of my closest friends ended up at the back of the line. She was devastated, and I was mad as hell.

But I stayed, and so did she, because we had a support group in my circle of friends, and because social life outside of the Greek system on my campus was near nonexistant. I had a place to live (that was cheaper than the dorm or an apartment) and three balanced meals every day. I had a built-in social life, complete with fraternity socials and volunteer work. And I had a serious boyfriend in our unofficial brother fraternity. I knew that something was wrong with the way we did things, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I hadn't found feminism at that point, and my only exposure to feminism was in an English class in which my instructor was a separatist lesbian who was actually not a feminist at all, but a grad student promoting matriarchy.

After graduation, which came a year late for me, I had a whirlwind of weddings to attend while I nursed the heart that my college boyfriend had recently broken. My good friends were very supportive, but the rest of my "sisters" were just happy that it didn't happen to them. They had their weddings, complete with puffy dresses, confection-colored bridesmaids, and giant diamonds. I was supposed to be one of them, but there I was, attending these weddings alone. (I should note that none of my close friends got married right away, so I wasn't "in" any of these weddings.) Toward the end of wedding season, I realized that my discomfort with these weddings was that I knew that life after college was dramatically different, and it seemed like these couples were just playing house.

While my sisters were getting married, I was starting grad school, which is when I found feminism. Specifically, Mary Daly's Gyn/Ecology (talk about baptism by fire!) It actually got me through my broken heart, and made me realize that I would have made a huge mistake if I had stayed with and married the college boyfriend, even though he was a really great guy. I realized that I had a lot of different paths ahead of me, and I was free to take any one I wanted. I also remembered that, as a little girl, instead of dreaming of my wedding day, I always dreamed of the day I'd be on my own. Remembering that dream is still something I do whenever I start to feel down on myself, because that's exactly what I'm doing.

But back to sisterhood. It took me a while, but I finally came to terms with the fact that I felt no "love" or "bond" or "sisterhood" with these women. It was a safety net. Sure, I had a small group of friends that I really did love, but I certainly didn't feel much affection for the other 85 women I'd sung songs with, passed candles with, and pledged my undying sisterhood to. Nope, it was all just an act. After college, the competition continued. If you were uncoupled, it was sad. If you were married, that was great. But if you were married with kids, you were so wonderful that your shit smelled like roses! That was the highest achievement with these women. And I lost interest in all the wedding/husband/baby updates.

I still keep in touch with my very best friend, and we see each other occasionally only because we live in the same state. I cherish her friendship, even though our lives are dramatically different. We probably never would have met without the sorority, so I can't say I completely regret it. But if I ever have a daughter, I will encourage her not to rush. I would hope that my child would be more emotionally deep than to just accept a pre-fab form of friendship, which is what I did, because it was easy. If I had it to do over again, it would be way different.

Womens' Work

I work at a university. (I'm working on a post that describes what I do and why I remain anonymous.) We get a lot of support from work scholars, who are lifesavers most of the time. Every year, we do a student worker appreciation lunch toward the end of the year.

It's actually a really nice event, and the students are given lots of attention and really appreciate the effort. Besides, what college student doesn't just love free food? Anyway, we get most of it catered by a local chicken joint and campus dining services. But the professional staff are asked to bring in extra side dishes and the dessert, to add a personal touch.

I'm all for potluck events, and think they're way more fun than catered events, and I really do enjoy putting something together and sharing it with friends. But one thing I've noticed is that only the women bring dishes in. I've never seen any of the men bring in a dish. I think that this sort of thing is just completely off the radar for them, because they almost never have to worry about cooking or feeding other people.

This year, I'm going to refuse to bring anything in. Not because I don't care about the students. But as a statement that I will not bend to archaic gender roles that dictate that, even though a woman is a successful professional (or, hell, a worker of any kind), she is still expected to play the wife-mother role at work. This is something that I've tried to be conscious about, and let me tell you, it's hard when your first reaction is to say "Yes!" and be a nurturer when you really just don't feel like it.

Some will think that my Bell's Palsy is the reason for my not contributing to the potluck, and if they don't ask, that's fine. But for those who do ask, I'll tell the truth, that I refuse to be viewed in the patriarchal conscription of wife-mother. Maybe it'll spark a little conversation and thought. And maybe some of my male coworkers will go home, do the dishes, and give their wives a break.

Rich Men, Beautiful Women

I was watching the Today Show this morning (yes, I still watch even though Katie is gone and the show is really just one long advertisement) and saw this sickening feature: Does beauty plus money equal love?

I missed most of Today's feature, but followed up at the ultra-creepy website, Pocket Change. From the website:

Pocket Change is honoring the age old union of wealthy men and hot girls. Society has taught us to not publicly acknowledge the obvious - no longer dear friends. Women want money in a man, men want beauty in a woman – this is a factual force of nature. Women don’t ask “So, what does he do for a living?” because they’re interested in his personality and guys don’t ask “is she hot?” because they’re concerned with character. Guys know that money buys them the car, the house and the trophy wife. This genetic cleansing is how the wealthy stay beautiful.

Barf.

This is no joke. The requirement for men to apply to this service is an income level of $500,000 for a 30 year old. (This threshold lowers for younger men.) For the women? They must submit 5 pictures, which will be judged by this woman solely on beauty. No extra information is allowed, because, you know, you wimmins are just supposed to sit there and look purty! Well, at least the ticket price for women is lower than the $500 it is for men: a steal at just $50!

I suppose I'm not surprised that there is an organization like this out there. I'm a little more surprised that a mainstream news outlet (NBC, New York Mag) are doing stories on it. I can't imagine the types of men one would meet at such an event. It's prostitution. The men simply want to buy the "services" of a beautiful woman with jewelry, travel, and a hefty will in return for a bit of arm candy. (I shudder as I use that term, but it's apropos here.)

One more comment: I did overhear on Today's story that they are doing a reverse event in the future with rich women and hot men. But, the income threshold for the women in in the millions, versus half a million for the men. Glass ceiling, anyone?

I'm half tempted to send in some pictures of me with my eye patch, just to kick up some dust.

Didn't you know that your womb is state property?

Two stories have really caught my attention this week. The first story comes out of Tampa, Florida -- my hometown. A 21 year old woman attended Gasparilla with some friends last weekend, and decided at about 1:30 p.m. to head back to her car and go home. On her way home, she was brutally raped. In broad daylight. When she finally made it back to her car, she called the police, who then took her to get medical help. While she was being examined, the police discovered she had an outstanding warrant and arrested her. The victim went to jail for two nights and was denied the second dose of her emergency contraception, because the jail nurse had a religious conflict.

The second story is out of Kansas City, Missouri, where a pregnant woman was arrested while having a miscarriage. She had stolen a car, and in the process of whatever it was that she was doing, she started to miscarry. The police disregarded the fact that she was having a miscarriage and hauled her off to jail anyway. The female officer asked, "How is that my problem?" The woman gave birth, and the baby died shortly after.

These two stories have been around the feminist blogosphere a lot, and they have a lot of obvious facts in common that I won't get into here. One thing that I haven't seen discussed is that there is a strong culture in this country of seeing women as hysterical and freakish children. In the case of the rape victim, the officers apparently didn't know what the big deal was. In the case of the miscarriage, the officers apparently thought she was having her period.

Why aren't women given more agency in this culture? Why are we not believed even when there are obvious signs of something wrong?

I think it's simply because women are still unconciously (or maybe consciously by state officials) classified as the sex class, as sub-human. The lack of sex education in this country is also contributing to a lack of understanding of how the human body works. If a woman says she's been raped, take care of the medical needs and evidence first, then worry about her criminal history. Being raped requires medical attention, and a violent rape can cause serious damage to a victim's internal organs, not to mention her psyche. If a woman is bleeding vaginally, or bleeding from anywhere but a paper cut, when you arrest her, investigate it before you get blamed for it. Duh!

This reminds me of a recent story where a man in Australia was arrested for vaginally and anally raping his wife with foreign objects. I talked to a man I know about this case, and he didn't understand what the big deal was. When I suggested that he be anally raped by his wife in his sleep, he cringed. "That's different," he said. How is it different? Most men just don't acknowledge the invasive nature the sex act for a female. So it's okay to shove something up my ass, but not up yours? M-kay.

But that's a topic for another post.