Pissed Off Pussy

Let me be clear: I am not offended because a man used the word "pussy".  Words are nothing more than sounds that we have assigned meaning to- they are not, in an of themselves, inherently offensive (or inoffensive) things.  If you doubt this, all I have to do is point out that I am perfectly capable of telling someone (in a professional environment, mind you) to fuck right off by using the extremely bland phrase, "Have a great day."  All I have to do is alter my tone and change which words I stress, and what should be a pleasantry becomes a verbal cudgel.  Don't tell me you haven't ever done something similar.

No, what upsets me is not the vocabulary used, but rather the message sent.  I am offended- nay, enraged- by the mindset that believes sexual assault is something to brag about, regardless of the terms used to describe it.  Trump could have said, "Grab them by the vulva," and it would not have made one iota of difference to my reaction (although I might have been momentarily impressed that he actually knew the correct anatomical term).  Why?  Because he is bragging about a crime.  And not a potentially harmless crime, like jaywalking in an empty street.  No, he is bragging about committing a crime that straight up violates another person, an action which, in my personal moral code, is about as horrific as it gets.

Of course, he doesn't actually see women as people: he sees them as animals ("I moved on her like a bitch") or, worse, objects, things that he can do anything he wants to, because he has the power.  And that's what's so wrong with him: not his vulgar vocabulary- his vile attitudes.

On the Hazards of Going Out in Public With a Baby

Turns out I still don't really care about strangers' kids.

Wait, no, that came out wrong.

Turns out I'm still not particularly interested in strangers' kids.  Which is a bit ironic, because now that I've got one of my own, strangers sure are interested in talking to me about their kids.  And because I have this knee-jerk reaction to engage with warmth and enthusiasm, I often end up hearing a lot more than I actually care about.  ::sigh::  Stupid, stupid social skills.

I shouldn't be surprised, really, since a) my mother has told me for years that having kids didn't change her interest in not-her-kids and b) it's pretty much exactly what happened when we got a pit bull (anyone who says dogs aren't like kids is full of it, and also probably has never had a dog).  Still, I was taken off guard when not one, not two, not even three, but four individuals at the grocery store wanted to interact with me on a "We both have children in our lives" level.  One of them didn't even have their (grand)child with them- they just felt compelled to share a text from their daughter with me.  Not a photo- just a text.  Which... okay?  That interaction was particularly strange because I hadn't engaged with them via eye-contact or smile or anything (which is what happened with the others): they just sort of popped up in between another parent and myself.  Like, literally inserted themselves between us.

I also don't really know what to do when strangers* effuse over how adorable Neeps is.  Obviously when someone says, "Your baby is so cute!" you say, "Thank you!" (and if you're me you add, "We think so!") but I... don't really know what's appropriate when they keep talking about how beautiful he is.  Which, yes, doesn't sound like a real problem ("He's almost... too good looking.") except sometimes I feel like they're fishing for me to be equally rapturous over their baby, in a sort of compliment quid pro quo thing, which... no.  Just accept the fact that my baby is better than yours, and move on with as much grace and dignity as you can muster.







*It's totally different when friends and loved ones do it, because they are all lovely, genuine people who are also highly intelligent and discerning and attractive and awesome.

LoveSick of Love

You may have noticed that it's Valentine's Day.  Probably.  And maybe you're like me, and you love this holiday- or maybe you hate it.  If you already love it, awesome; if you hate it, let's talk about that.

Every year I come up against Valentine Haters, and every year I find myself getting aggravated with them.  I hear all their excuses, and all I can think is, "Why are you crapping on my awesome day?"

But I had a realization today, Gentle Readers.  Aided in no small part by my dog.

Beloved

See that disgusting ball?  That filthy, slimy object of horror?  That thing that you definitely don't want to pick up with your bare hand but you will because you're a good dog owner, damn it?  My dog loves that thing.  Loves it.  When she looks at that ball, she sees something exciting, something she can play with and carry around and generally possess.  It is a thing of great beauty to her, a piece of happiness that she can fit in her mouth, a bonding session with her humans.  It's a fundamentally different object to her than it is to me.

And Valentine's is a fundamentally different holiday to me than it is to Haters.

Valentine's is, to me, a day to celebrate love.  Just love.  Not only one kind of love.  All love.  The love you have for your parents, your siblings, your relatives, your friends, your friends with benefits, your best friends, your lover(s), your life partner(s), your children, your classmates, your animals, your climbing bros.  Your self.  All your love are belong to Valentine's Day.  It's a wonderful occasion where I get to run around expressing to people how happy I am that they're in my life, and enjoying when they express the same.  People have been all about "Galentine's" and "Palentine's" this year, but for me there's no need for those holidays, because Valentine's Day already encompasses them.

For some people, however, Valentine's is the day that a card company declares who has value as a human being and who doesn't, based on their relationship status.  Or it's a day where you're forced to spend money and time on someone you already spend a lot of money and time on, but apparently that's not enough.  And you know what?  Those do sound like pretty crappy holidays.  And I'm awfully glad that I'm not forced to participate in them.

But here's the thing.  If you're reading this, you're probably a grown up.  And if you're a grown up?  Yeah, you pretty much get to pick your own beliefs.  So why in the name of stars would you pick such a crappy, crappy definition of Valentine's Day?  Why would you ever celebrate any less-than-awesome holiday, now that you're an adult and can do what you want?  What I'm saying here, people, is that the problem is not Valentine's Day- the problem is people who cling to definitions that honestly shouldn't have any hold over them whatsoever.

"But Jenny O," you might whine.  "It's not me making the definition- it's society!"

Guess what, kiddo?  You're part of society.

So.  Make your own holidays.  Make them all awesome.  And for the love of all that's glittery, quit crapping on those of us who already do.

(and if you're one of those people who is all, "I don't need a special made-up day to express my love for someone!" I say, "Awesome.  So make it like any other day, and get with the love expressing.")

Rude Children's Parties*

*(grammar intentionally fuzzy)

My nephew Eaglet turns one very, very soon, and my sister-in-law was plotting a pirate-themed party for him.  By which I mean she was planning a pirate-themed party for us, because as we all know, one-year-olds don't particularly give a damn about party themes.  Or parties in general, really.  In fact I feel pretty secure saying that mostly one-year-olds care about food, snuggles, and getting their way.  Mostly just that last one, really, since it essentially covers all the rest.

Anyway.

Certain people felt that maybe raping and pillaging wasn't quite the thing for a one-year-old's party, to which I say, "Avast!" and also, "I'll blow the man down!"**  It also led to me confessing to my sister-in-law my long-nutured plan for If We Have a Kid and It Survives to One Year Old:

The "We Haven't Killed It Yet!" party!

Yes, the WHKIY party, for which I will provide plenty of alcohol and request that all my friends dress up as endangered animals.  It's going to be awesome.  And if we don't have kids I may throw it on behalf of a friend's kid.  Because seriously, I know you parents get tired of coming up with new party themes.

Speaking of awesome segues...

I recently accepted a new role at work, and that role is Event Planner.  In specific, Special Event Planner, which means my team doesn't have to plan any boring events- we get to plan the events that celebrate things!  Wheee!  And in honor of that, I've decided to share with everyone a short list of Inappropriate Children's Parties:

Cam Whore Party!
     Everyone thinks it's super sweet that you set up a photo booth to record your child's friends and family on this precious day, but we know what it's really about.  Selfies.  All the selfies.

Knotty or Nice Party!
     Fun with ropes!  Imagine the funky fashions! The creative decorations!  Better yet, imagine the practicality of corralling toddlers!

(Confession Time: this theme is listed simply to justify using today's photo)

Cowboys and Indians Party!     Look, you know it, I know it- kids are riddled with disease and prone to taking crap that's not theirs.  It's like the party plans itself.

Mobster Party!
     Pinstripes, Pearls, and Prohibition! And enough fake blood to cover the inevitable real stuff.  Bonus: you literally cannot have this party without alcohol.  (You know, in the figurative sense of "literally".)

Cookie Monster Party!
     Make all your friends bring their favorite cookies.  Except everyone knows you shouldn't let your one-year-old eat cookies.  So.  Guess you'll have to eat them all.  For the children.



Feel free to add your own party ideas in the comments!


**(while looking up various pirate phrases to impress you with, I happened to also come across "crack Jenny's tea cup" and basically it's my new favorite thing.)

Bella Swan is so a Feminist

Okay, I know there are some people out there who do not give a rat's ass what I might have to say on the subject- they are going to hate Bella Swan, and they are going to hate the whole Twilight franchise, and I'd have a better chance of convincing them that the sun rises in the west than I would of changing their minds.  This entry is not for them.  This entry is for the people who look at me askance and say, "Jenny O, you are an intelligent woman and a reasonably vocal feminist- how could you possibly enjoy the Twilight books and their milquetoast heroine, Bella Swan?"

Well Gentle Readers, I shall tell you.

When I first read Twilight, I enjoyed the hell out of it.  And I enjoyed the hell out of it because it took me back to when I was seventeen, and love was life-or-death dramatic.  I remember when relationships were all-consuming like that, and while I am relieved I'm no longer subject to such (you could not pay me enough to be a teenager again), that doesn't mean I can't enjoy an occasional trip down memory lane.  So in terms of good ol' fashioned entertainment, Twilight did its job.  Good on you, Stephenie Meyer.

Because I'd enjoyed the first book I went ahead and got the second, and the third, and eventually the fourth, when it came out.  Now I had some issues of my own with those books (a different entry entirely), but Bella Swan being anti-feminist was not one of them.  In fact, the first time I encountered that charge, I was baffled- had the person read the books? (answer: probably not)  Because here is the thing about Bella- all she wants is to be equal to her chosen mate.

That's right, Bella just wants equality.  In a world full of monsters and supermen, she does not want to settle for being the fragile little human who must be protected- she wants to be a monstrous superman, too, thereby be able to protect those she loves.  How, exactly, is that anti-feminist?

And then there are the people who rant that Twilight is all anti-choice, because Bella chooses to carry a fetus to term that is killing her.  Wait, let me say that last part again, with some added emphasis: Bella chooses to carry a fetus to term that is killing her.  Please explain to me how that is anti-choice?  A woman making her own decision about her body?  A woman saying to the people around her, "I don't care what you think is best for me, I am making the choice that I think is right."  Too often, I think, people get caught up in this idea that "pro-choice" means, "Making the choice I would make".  Same thing applies to feminism- some people act like, "Feminism is making the choices I would make," and they look down on those women who don't.  Hence we have women who are ashamed to admit that they don't want to "have it all"- they want to be stay-at-home moms and housewives and not go in to an office every day- or at all.

And I cry BS on that.  You shouldn't have to feel like you're not a feminist because what you want doesn't match what certain members of society are telling you should want.

I recently read an article talking about how when they interviewed girls who'd read Twilight and asked them what they admired about Bella Swan, they rattled off a list of positive traits that aren't actually mentioned in the books.  Which says to me that Stephenie Meyer achieved her goal of making a heroine you could put yourself into, up to and including strengths and weaknesses.  So I have to ask, if I read those books and came away believing that Bella Swan is a decided feminist, and other people come away thinking she's not... well, is there any sort of commentary there on what sort of baggage we're bringing to our respective readings?

Michael's Sword

Warriors have been very much on my mind, lately, a state of being which led to today's doodle of a flaming sword done in the same style as my angel wings, because why not?

(as well as some random thoughts)

Which brings me to my next point about what sorts of images I find appropriate for Memorial Day.  I am the daughter and granddaughter and sister and niece and cousin of military men and women, and I feel pretty secure in my entitlement to an Opinion on the matter.  Which is why I will tell you that I, personally, am greatly aggravated by all these images of grieving people sprawled across graves that keep popping up on my Facebook feed.  It is not obnoxious to me because I don't think Memorial Day is important or that it shouldn't be acknowledged as something more than just a day off from work- in fact I do know that it's about and I do believe it's important that people remember that men and women have given their lives for freedom.  What aggravates me is that these particular photographs arise from one of two scenarios: either they have been set up for effect, in which case they are a slap in the face to everyone who has experienced actual loss, or else they are exploiting people's genuine suffering so that others might put self-congratulatory status updates on their Facebook page because they remember the "true meaning" of Memorial Day, one long weekend out of 365 days.  And I find both scenarios equally distasteful.

Other people's grief should not be a spectacle or a mockery.  Let us remember the sacrifices made, yes- but let us do it with dignity and respect for all parties involved.

Children of Prophesy

When the common people first began to whisper of the prophecy, I paid them no mind. I whose ear was so full of the booming voice of my god could spare no time for the voice of anything lesser- especially nothing so nonsensical as prattling about the succession. What cared I for the succession? I had at least a dozen sons by my wives, and more by my concubines. The succession would take care of itself when the time came, and in the meantime I had a temple to build: a temple for the glory of my god. He had promised me I should not die before its completion, and I knew it would take a score of years or more. More than enough time for one or more of my children to show himself suitable for the role.

But as the great temple took shape, and the voice of my god grew softer and more content, the voices of the commoners gained in volume and urgency. Soon even the nobles were speaking- behind my back, of course- of the prophecy. Of the babe who would be king, not just of this land but of all lands. A child with two fathers- one royal and one common- but the blood of neither. A child who would grow to be a man who could not die, and who would enslave the world to his will.

And when the priests came to me, speaking of signs and portents and a star blue as death where none had been before- I decided it was time to listen.

Into the temple- the great temple my god had commanded, with its soaring columns and smoking altars- into the temple I went, and I knelt, and I begged my god to guide me, to tell me how I could prevent this invincible usurper from coming to power. How I might save the world from the coming darkness. I opened my heart to my god and I listened for what he would tell me- but the temple was complete, and His once-insistent voice had grown so soft it was now silent.

Three nights and days I knelt, and I waited, and three nights and days my heart remained empty. Until the the sun sank below the horizon on the third day, and I felt my heart grow heavy and sink with it. Because I remembered that the prophesy said the child would grow to be a man who could not die- but first he must grow to be a man.

What I did- what had to be done- I am not proud of it. It left me broken and empty, surely you must know that? But in fairness to my people I had to make an example of my own twins. Could anyone doubt the underlying purpose to my actions, that I sacrificed my own blood for the sake of my people? I asked nothing of them that I did not give to them in return, to keep them safe. To keep the entire world safe.

My people can have more children, new babes to replace those sacrificed. And those children will be able to grow up without fear of a prophesied tyrant who will not die. They will grow up in the light...

Staying

While browsing NPR the other day I came across a review for a book called If I Stay (Forman). The concept was intriguing to me, so I picked it up from the library yesterday, and before bed I cracked it open to read a few chapters before going to sleep.

Um, yeah. Definitely stayed up waaaaay too late because I couldn't put it down. Definitely finished it in one sitting, which granted is not that difficult with a 200 page book, but is not what I was expecting to do at fifteen minutes 'til sleepy-times. I think that is a pretty good recommendation for a book, personally. (Also it is quite possible I cried.)

But back to the intriguing concept. To quote Publisher's Weekly: The last normal moment that Mia, a talented cellist, can remember is being in the car with her family. Then she is standing outside her body beside their mangled Buick and her parents' corpses, watching herself and her little brother being tended by paramedics. As she ponders her state (Am I dead? I actually have to ask myself this), Mia is whisked away to a hospital, where, her body in a coma, she reflects on the past and tries to decide whether to fight to live.

I will not give away what Mia chooses, or why, but I will say that it made me think long and hard about what my choice would be in similar circumstances. There was a time (my early/mid teens) where I was utterly unafraid of death. It's not that I thought I was immortal or invincible, or that I had a free pass to heaven (I wasn't really a Christian even then), or anything like that- it's more like I just... didn't care. I didn't care one way or the other whether I was alive or dead. I wasn't going around looking for death, but I wasn't going out of my way to prevent it, either. (I remember one time looking over an edge and thinking that the only reason to be careful was that the drop wouldn't kill me.) As far as I was concerned, there was pretty much an equal draw to both- Mom on one side of Existence, Dad on the other (at that point in my development my brother didn't count as much as his own entity- which just goes to further illustrate how deeply stupid I was at that stage.)

I have things to live for, now, which I have to say is pretty nice. Of course the downside to that is that I now feel something akin to a fear of death. Although it's not really a fear of death per se- it's more like a sadness at leaving behind what I love. My Afterlife beliefs aren't exactly fixed (that's a subject for another post entirely), so I guess you could say there is a certain fear of the unknown... not that it will be bad (I really don't believe it will) just that I don't know what it will be. And I'm anal retentive and I like to have a plan, damn it

Anyway, in light of the fact that I now have this wonderful abundance of people and things to live for, reading If I Stay made me wonder how much of it I'd have to lose before I'd go back to that lack-of-fear. Obviously I have my mother's example that you can survive a life-mate's death, even be happen again. But then I think- she had children. She had responsibility. Would I bother, if I didn't have that responsibility? I think I probably would but... until you're faced with it, I guess you don't know. And if I were to lose him, and my mom, and my brother, and my best friends, etc. etc., all in one bizarre fell swoop- how much loss could I survive?

I sincerely hope I never have to find out the answer to that question.

Of course it helps that I have a certain amount of derision for suicide as the easy way out. It's quite possible that even if everyone I ever loved suddenly dropped dead I'd keep going from sheer stubborn pride.

(Here, have another photo of Chicago from my wandering life-mate.)


EDIT: You know what, after giving it even more thought, I'd have to say it's not a fear of death so much as a love of life. Yeah, that's what I meant.

Differentiate

"It is Good," He said, voice rolling across the hills like the newly Created thunder. The angel next to Him bit what on a mortal would be called its lip.

"It is Good..." it said.

"...but? I am sensing a 'but', Raguel. Don't dissemble, just because I could unmake your existence."

"Well, my Effervescently Incandescent One, it's just that... well, there just isn't much to differentiate it from the celestial plane."

"Should there be?"

"Not necessarily, O Delight of Our Days. And Nights. And-"

"Yes, yes, I'm delightful. Back to this differentiating between the mortal world and the heavenly realm." He was silent for a moment, the sort of silence that weighs heavy upon the Universe. The angel wasn't certain, but it thought He might be tugging at His beard. Finally He spoke again.

"Do you know, Raguel, I believe you're right. What's the point of making the two separate if you can't even tell them apart? And I have just the thing for it!"

"You do, Excellently Paternal One?"

"Of course I do! Little idea I've been toying with, thought it might be interesting- bending light waves!"

"Bending them?" (It was a sign of Raguel's extreme bewilderment that he forgot to come up with an appropriate honorific.) "Won't that... ruin their perfection?"

"Well yes- but in a fascinating way. Watch!"

Raguel watched, and tried not to gape at the results. His Creator smiled delightedly.

"There, you see! I'm thinking of calling it... color."


(Layers)

Apocalypse How?

The angel was doing its best not to look too nervous. It wasn't certain why it was trying, since He was omniscient, and all, but still... it had some pride.

"I'm sorry but... I don't understand, Excelsis One. The flood worked so well the last time- why not go that route again?"

"Because, Raguel," the Creator sighed, obviously feeling burdened. "Because of the damn dirty atheists."

Raguel flinched. When He called someone "damned", He meant it. "I- the atheists, Glorious One? Will they not be wiped out just as easily by flood as any other mortal?"

"Yes, well, that's rather the problem, isn't it? Back in the good old days, I could send down a flood, or a meteor, and by Me people knew that I was pissed. These days they start talking sun flares and weather patterns and el neen-whatever, and go about their sordid business, with nary a sacrifice in sight. It's depressing. I mean, is it too much to ask for a little bit of credit for One's work?"

"Of course not, Your Most Auspiciously Self-y One."

" 'Self-y One'. Hmph. That's new."

"Well yes, I just now thought of it, Lord."

"Hmph. I think I like it. Anyway the point is that if I send down legions of sleep-deprived angels with flaming swords it may not be as efficient as flooding the earth- the slaughter might not be quite as wholesale- but at least people will know it's Me sending the message, and not some made-up Mexican."