On Cuntitude and Straight People

A request and a complaint and some cunt.

First, complaining. The internet phenomenon that is sweeping the universe at the moment, Wrong Hole? Meh. MEH I SAY. While I love the gratuitous “celebrity” cameo, I just can’t get excited about this song. So, it is usual tired premise being presented as the epitome of straight male humor: “HUR I accidentally stuck it in my lady’s butt, and TWIST I would let her do it to me as well (points against for not using the term pegging–just think of the rhyming opportunities there) but TWIST takeback because I hope she does not want to peg ME, and TWIST again she actually liked it.” JUST STOP IT. Do it or do not, and just shut up the fuck up already. My biggest problem with this is my request, which is a garagey-type band with a female lead from the 1990s who did a song called “Wrong Hole” and now this new one has reverse googlebombed it and I cannot find it. I seem to be the only person I know who remembers it.

Also I am thinking about the term “misogyny.” I think I have been looking at a little too much Jezebel lately, but I am seeing this term tossed around like mad. Last week tango was declared misogynist in the comments. Like, all of tango. I thought I knew what it meant. In the strictest reductionist sense, we know, it means a hatred of women. You can get somewhat more specific and point to examples of HOW to be misogynist, such as reducing women to body parts, objects, assuming that all or many or a group of them will act a certain way or are out to get you somehow. Today Jezebel reports that Nikki Finke calls people cunts. Misogynist, they say.

Years ago I think “cunt” did have some kind of power over me, or at least novelty. When I first fell off the turnip truck and landed in Seattle, no one I knew used the word, and if it was referred to, it was spelled out in hushed tones: “C-U-N-T.” I came face to face with the cunt word in the form of a coworker at my first full time job who had “cunt” tattooed on her arm (years later I saw a picture of her tattoo hanging on the walls of SAM and was pleased.) By that point it was just a word, albeit a rarer one than some of the more common insults or “impolite” words. I guess you could say I have “reclaimed” (sigh) cunt, but I never really felt like it was snatched from me to begin with.

I have had cunt used against me by men on multiple occasions as a weapon with serious intentions that were meant to show me up and shut me down. In those instances I did feel that the user’s intention was to hit me with the worst thing they could think of verbally and shame me into being a “good girl” who would want to be non-cunty and worthy of my opponent’s approval. (I am not saying I would actually gain their approval. I am saying it was a manipulative tactic.) Is this an instance of misogyny? I didn’t feel MISOGYNIZE’D because I could see the attempt as the cheap and impotent tactic that it was. [Aside: what is the male version of cunt?]

If we agree that misogyny is a cause/result of patriarchal social structures, yes, perhaps you could argue that Finke has fallen into this trap of communicating with and about Hollywood types using their own “masculine” language. But first you have to buy the idea that the word “cunt” is always code for hating women. I am just as likely to use the word “cock” to insult someone, male or female. I find these both acceptable as insults for individuals and their behavior. What does that make me, besides crass?

What do you think? Am I oversimplifying things? What bus did I miss? Are there “misogynies” in the same sense that there are “feminisms“? Does calling Nikki Finke a cunt make her a victim of misogyny, or does it mean that the person who said it…thinks she is a cunt? Does her use of the word make her a misogynist, or does it mean that she thinks the person she called is one? Could it be that the people who are crying “misogyny” are simply uncomfortable with the use of the word?

Oh, and, um, I went to Brickcon yesterday. It was fun and very very misogynist. FROWNY EYEBROWS OF DISAPPROVAL with a side of pearl-clutching.

Dear MF Diary, Today The Boy I Like Said Hi To Me In the Hall.

Me: What are you doing with this bacon grease?
P: I dunno. You want to cook with it or something?
Me: NO! I am vegemetarian now, remember.
P: Yeaaaah.
Me: Well? Can you cover this stuff up so it does not become DUSTY GREASE at least? SHUT THE LID.
P: We can save it and rub it on the foundation in case there is a flood or something.
Me: …
P: Heh heh.
Me: JUST CLEAN IT.

VERY FUNNY, P.

This parable, which is not a parable at all, is an illustration of how we never fight about anything important anymore, but only about insignificant shit. Because we are both FIGHTERS, for now and for always. At times we fight about if we are actually fighting. The girls don’t even blink. It’s nice that it doesn’t really count anymore. Sometimes I wish we would have gotten to this stage without breaking up, but that’s life.

The chickens are molting like whoa. Death Ray is nothing but some blondey fluff right now. I can really see new feathers on her.

Today I wandered all over Wallingford running errands. Did you see that they are remodeling the QFC? When I first moved here it was still Food Giant. I hope they keep the Wallingford sign that QFC transmogrified it into.

The roses are having their last hurrah. I really like this time of year before the heat goes on, the summer flowers are having one last push, and you can put in fall flowers. I put mums in the front beds this year, and I am just going to leave them there instead of treating them like annuals. My pansies are in place as well, and they will last through the winter, which is an awesome thing about Seattle. Who can complain about year-round flowers? ASSHOLES, that’s who.

Today P. is decorating practice cupcakes for Franny’s birthday. This is her golden birthday so she gets gold cake. I will post the results later. I am trying to decide what kind of gold presents to get her. Strudel is VERY ANGRY because her golden birthday isn’t until she is twelve.

There are more pics on AssFlickr if you are desirous of more rubbernecking.

In Which We Keep Things In Perspective

I am choking on the writing thing lately, am I not? Suddenly I have more drains on my energy and have been writing offline A LOT more. I know, I know, less fap, more rap. I hate blog excuses. It’s just this thing that is happening on the internets, you know?

If I don’t write for online for a few days I start to choke and block up, so I need to bite the bullet and give you disjointed updates that will pass for writing. Once Shauna said that the longer you go, the harder it is, and that is so true. At least my blog is like 3% better now. You can now click on my banner and it will take you home, and I got a shiny WP upgrade. Candy Mountain, bitches.

I should tell you what happened with my blog hosting that made me look like a motherfuckin 404in deadbeat. I got a bill for my yearly hosting, which I paid before the due date. Okay, cool times. I got no receipt, which I promptly forgot about. A couple of weeks after the due date, I got a late notice. Hmmm. I replied. No response. HELLO? Anyone home? Then I got a 48-hours-you suck email. HEY, I paid this, and it posted to the bank even. No reply. A couple of Sundays ago I went dark, which, thank you alert readers and emailers. A friend pulled me over onto his server and I was back up.

Days later I get a reply from my old host. “Sorry, busy, how about a free month?” Man, for serious? You cut me off like that automagically? Too little too late, I said. Refund PLZ. I am still waiting for a refund. I suspect I will be waiting forever.

My friend, with the goat essay? I am sorry to say that the contest she entered was made of fail. Instead of narrowing the entries down to a readable amount, the woman who runs the site merely threw them all up. All 60+ of them. There was no consideration or judgment of merit or anything. Who has time to read and judge that many essays? NO ONE. Of course it becomes a zerg rush of how many people each entrant knows on the internet. Far better would have been for the goat giver to form some kind of panel of judges. I have not seen a more poorly planned contest in quite some time. Would I be complaining about any of this if my friend won? No, I would not.

Franny is getting into a routine of sorts with public school. Homework is still fairly perplexing to her, but with a lot of handholding, she is getting there. There were things I absolutely hated about private school, but this school is a different world in a lot of ways. They have weird meetings where they compliment each other. Yes, that’s it. They say nice things to each other. What a fucking load of crap that is.

Franny now has two banes in her life: homework and dishwashing. I told her that if she finishes her homework and does a nice job with it well before dinnertime I will let her off the dishes hook.

Last night she was sitting at the table cranking about her subtraction homework. Carrying the one is a torture device sent from hell to torment her.

“I hate this, Mom. I HATE HOMEWORK.”

“Well,” I said, as I chopped onions, and then stopped, reconsidering.

“WHAT?”

“I was just thinking, if you lived in parts of Sudan, you would not have to go to school.”

“Really?”

“Yes, they stick an automatic weapon in your hand and you go to war killing people. If you are lucky you just end up missing some limbs.”

“…”

“How’s that homework?” I said.

“AWESOME I LOVE MATH.”

“Want to look at pictures of limbless children after dinner?”

“No thanks.”

P.S., In case you missed it, here is FYCL #8, Embarrassingly Fertile.

Stick a Fork in Meh

This morning I took the girls on a death march waaaay up north to get oyster shells for the eggbags and library books and other odds and ends. Speaking of eggbags, mine seem to be not laying at the moment, which is a major bummer, since otherwise their major exports are poop and bocks, neither of which are in short supply. I think they are having that first molt that young chickens get around 18 months. Their combs look all deflated and sad, and they look a little patchy, feathers-wise.

On Thursday night I podcasted, which I thought was a terrible idea at first, and I went into on a trial basis to see what it was like. I realized I have some sort of block against artistic pursuits that take more than a given amount of effort to complete, and I am quick to destroy things once they are finished, and loathe to revisit old projects. Why? It can’t be just that I am that boner about the process. I am thinking about it. Now that I am on podcast #8 I enjoy it greatly and am very glad I was talked into it. Certainly there are overlapping themes between here and the podcast, but I feel like it’s become a different aspect of my personality or whatever this self-expression thing is I need to be doing.

How is Franny doing? Franny is adjusting to the terrors and delights of public school reasonably well. Now that she is out of the shadow of her old rival in her small private school she is back to wanting her hair pink and seems more like what I think of as herself. Her rival was one of the most unpleasant children I have ever met in my life and to Franny’s horror insisted on copying Franny and having purple hair, which never looked as nice as Franny’s. Franny seemed slightly defeated in her last year in private school and I think this move was good and necessary.

I am sad that Franny’s spelling and math facts mastery at this point are atrocious, which is what I had come to anticipate from the school, based on the experience of parents there with older children. I think fourth grade was a good leap to make because we are not quite knocking on the door of middle school yet and there is time to catch up. A major challenge has been homework Mondays through Thursdays. Franny does not know what to do with most of her dittos, and seems to have the most trouble with math or with any questions that ask her to think or exercise reading comprehension. I see a lot of myself in her; at her age I completely lacked patience for analysis or math. That said, she still needs to learn how to do it, and she is.

Pictures up later–I am busted tired with a nasty head cold and walked too far today. Hope your Saturday is treating you right.

Shameless Promotion

Hey Team,

A friend of mine entered an essay contest to win angora goats for her farm. Yes, this is complete and utter bias, but she is a good person, a good friend, and runs a lovely farm. Her farm is an investment in her future and the future of her children, two of whom are autistic. In a nutshell (ho ho) she has started a walnut farm to support her dependent children in her old age and beyond. The goats would be a great addition to her farm and for her future planning.

I know she agonized over the writing and editing of this and her friends are very excited for her. I gladly looked at drafts for her, but I really had no comments to make! If you think she has written a worthy essay, I hope you will cast a vote for her. (Note: if you are two or more people on one computer, know that they are monitoring for ballot box stuffing!) Thanks for considering.

NB: An IE person just told me they could not get in with a direct link. If you have trouble, try accessing the main site, and my friend’s name is Veronica Tuggle-Welch, and it is the Goat Giveaway. VOTING ENDS FRIDAY!!

When I Was Young I Lived In a World of Dreams

10:36 AM Coworker:
Um…wow. Crap to make role-playing dice.
10:36 AM SJ:
lol
10:36 AM Coworker:
no fucking clue where to categorize this shit.
10:36 AM SJ:
I have seen it. I am a nerd groupie. Use this:
Geekery|General Geekery|Virgins

WHAT’S CRACKALACKIN FOOLS? Did you see my little blog hiccup I had up in myah? Hosting issues and I was down for a couple of days. I am not a deadbeat. I have le new hosting now, and also tech support so I am very happy. I ONLY HAVE TO PAY WITH MY SOUL.

This is also the first day in about a week I have not been dizzy. Occassionally I mention here that I have long-term vertigo that comes and goes. Last week I got something called a VNG test. I felt pretty stupid as I was filling out the questionnaire before the test–“How long have you been experiencing vertigo/dizziness?” Uhhh…fifteen years. Crap. That’s pretty stupid.

The good news is that my hearing is pretty normal, though sometimes it cuts out and all I can hear is the aliens talking to me. The sucky news is that they didn’t find anything in my head, yet. So I have to figure out what to do next. A VNG test is really fucking intense. It turns out you can induce extreme dizziness by blowing hot or cold air into one ear or the other in about 45 seconds. WEIRD.

Anyway, I really really like you, but if you diagnose me with ANYTHING in my comments you will be B& and sentenced to reading everything the mommyblogger of my choice has ever written. Head broken; blogger crazy. Too many knocks, I suspect. Lower your expectations, I’m getting crazier by the day. HAVE A GOOD DAY.

P.S. Podcasting tomorrow; write when you learn how.

FYCL 7: The Interrupted Podcast

FYCL

Hey, it’s lucky number seven! The exciting news here is that we are now on iTunes so you know it’s too legit to quit. Sexual taboos, dubious and non-dubious sex toys, Kanye West will let you finish but first he will be a jackass, and finding work in academia.

Direct grab: http://www.uppitywomen.org/media/FYCL7.mp3
RSS: http://fycl.libsyn.com/
iTunes (free): http://www.apple.com/search/ipoditunes/?q=FYCL

Hey Guys What’s Going On?

I got stabbed by a “well-meaning” doctor last week who gave me some vaccine that caused a crazy reaction.  At least there was no medical mask over beard hairs. BARF OUT. Ladies only, yall. Long story short, I was kind of jacked last week. No podcast, no nuffin. Last Saturday night I was a samurai hobo with Ruby, except this time the sake was terrible and I couldn’t finish it.

Ruby took me to see the comedian Arj Barker, whom you may know from Flight of the Conchords fame. I do not, since I only listen to the videos on internet, but I heard him on the radio once and he seemed okay to me.

The funny thing was before the show, when we discovered that the Showbox decided to perpetrate a cruel sociological experiment by setting up some of the bar/counter seating with an odd number of chairs. This resulted in an empty seat next to me. Presently a short man, possibly even a midget, walked up with another chair and brandished it at us slightly.

“Could I get you all to move just a couple of inches,” he said, in an entitled-dick voice. He was with a lovely, tall blonde woman who looked like she was wishing she were somewhere, anywhere else as she assiduously looked off to one side as he harangued us.

“If we moved over,” I said, with logic that was approaching epic levels, “she will get bumped off the end of this bar.” I pointed to a hapless woman at the very end who was looking concerned.

“If we could ALL just move TWO INCHES,” said Entitled Dick.

“I don’t know these guys and I don’t want to get ANY closer,” Ruby said, indicating the men next to her and making me love her even more.

He took one last run at it: “Just TWO INCHES.”

“That’s what she said,” I said. He squinted at me, but it was getting loud in the club.

“It is VERY CROWDED,” Entitled Dick said.

“That is because you are horning your chair in,” I said.

Finally Ruby and I passive-aggressively scooched our chairs over the tiniest bit and he squeezed in.

I quickly forgot about him and went back to enjoying my vodka tonic and chatting with Ruby. I couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye he spent the entire time before the show on his iPhone, poking it and scrolling around while his companion looked around and over his shoulder, bored. I had a moment of wanting to pull a “IS THIS DICK BORING YOU, BABY?” but I restrained myself when I remembered I am not actually Justin Timberlake.

Right before the opener came out Entitled Dick took a phone call and he pulled his companion and left. Two men that we did not have a traumatic history with swooped in and took their seats, which was great with me.

GOD HELP ME all I want to do today is listen to “Landslide” and eat spray cheese out of the can.