part-time feminist

domestication, social awareness

I’m super into blogging when I’m a) angered or b) really bored. I’ve been neither lately. Until today. And then I did this really weird thing where I resolved it in a timely and professional manner resulting in not being so angry. Which kind of took the fuel out of the burning desire to write this post.

But, just for you I’m going to rummage up all of the scattered thoughts that I’ve had about this notion over the past few weeks and try and make it into something cohesive. Which I really didn’t want to do. A week ago I was going to write this and thought, ahhhhhh every thing has already been done. Let me just google it and send my boyfriend a link. That’ll suffice. And well the internet only gave me a few subpar options of girls who didn’t have their guns loaded well enough. I guess I’ll have to do all of the leg work.

Exhibit A)
Most Sunday nights we go to my best friend’s mom’s house. How many possessions can I put in one sentence? I love this time because I get to eat ridiculously delicious food (until I burst), have an adult beverage and a lively discourse with a handful of the most amazing people that I know.
I guess this particular night I was feeling feisty. May have been those 2 glasses of wine that I had since my “year long high altitude drinking hiatus” started 2 months ago (save a few nights where there were completely legitimate exceptions to be made– sorrynotsorry).
We watched this video that reminded Ari of me…. I might be opinionated. I’m super into the notion of being informed and enlightened about the issues that you hold close to your heart. Being unapologetically female is one of those for me. Sometimes I get all up in arms about the injustice against “my people”. Yes, you heard me, my people. 51% of the population are my people. We have vaginas, we have opinions, we gave birth to you. Respect us equally or move out of the way because I-We- will not kowtow to any of you regardless of your gender. I don’t have a place or a role. Rawwr. Feminism?

Exibit B)
There are many aspects of my life that conform to gender roles. I’m a mother. I do motherly things. I have a home, I take care of that home. I’m OCD as a mo’fo’ about said home so I clean like it’s my job.I am excitable and giddy over puppies, babies and anything with a bow on it. I like cute things, sue me. I get paid to be friendly and out going. But that doesn’t mean that I’m a ditzy girl. I’m not actually that squeamish about killing spiders but I’d like to flex my damsel card and have my man rid the house of bugs. It’s my prerogative and I’ll use it how ever I darn well please. Does that make me a part time feminist?

Nahhh it just makes me a human being navigating this world and all of it’s social constructs.

I also fart. I eat vegetables not covered in sprinkles. I am educated. I use big words and little ones. I am sarcastic. I am made of nails and can spit fire. Take that June Cleaver.
Depending on how well you know me you may or may not have experienced the full array of who I am or what I am capable of. That should go without saying for all of us. (Speaking of being a complex woman this video is seriously hilarious and way too accurate).
I’m really good with that. I don’t need to know everyone on the deepest level. In fact I’m learning more and more with every passing year that there is a vast amount of beauty in distance.
But, there’s always a butt with me 🙂 , see I’m cheeky but that doesn’t mean that you can actually grab my rear. We live in a world of blurred lines, I’m particularly good at straddling the fence. Double entendre much?

I’m rambling. My condolences.

Exhibit C? I’ve lost track:
Let me cut to the chase-s. There’s two. *Edit, there’s 6*
1- Though I hesitate to make sweeping statements about the man that I’m in a relationship with at any given time. Because up until present I’ve eaten a lot of crow. YOLO. HEAR YE HEAR YE, I’m in love. And he’s super rad. He is the first person that has not only been able to tolerate me but do so with poise and grace. He thinks at least 85% of my jokes are funny. He knows exactly when to walk away and assert that I’m crazy before there’s any real escalation. And he gets me my own water when I ask for a drink of his, mostly because he’s scared of my floaties. Either way I win.

2-That night at Kath-a-leen’s I was giving J a bunch of crud about being a man. At some point for some very important reason I’m sure I declared that men were really just simple creatures easily hexed by the spell of the mighty female. To not acknowledge that and when absolutely necessary or you know- fun, and to use it to your advantage is to leave the majority of your fleet at home. Oh not I; how I enjoy winning the little battles. Does that counter all of the other times that I carry and impossibly heavy thing past a gathering of men rejecting their assistance despite my bulging lumbar discs—yes. Am I entitled to have both prerogatives. Freak yes. Manipulative? Part-time feminist?

3- In between my rants about masculinity and the death of chivalry I made a point to point out that by the grace of God the men who’s presence that I was in are the exception. That wasn’t me blowing smoke. That’s plain ‘ol good luck. There are a handful of amazing men in my life that have consistently proven that they can handle the myriad of behaviors and attitudes that I keep in my pocket. Loving and respecting me though all of them.

4- I’m doing a really poor job of tying all of these things together. Maybe I’ll break it up. Counter to those few good men (yes there are many of you in the world I know) are many crappy dudes that I’ve had the misfortune to know all to well. 1/2 of my DNA, my siblings, my lovers, my child’s father, people that I have blindly trusted and those that I could never palate enough to get with in an arms reach. They have been the majority. I wish it wasn’t so. Yes, I realize that I have had the experience of growing up in the land of social stagnation. I try to curb my tendency to cast assumptions on men who cross me wrong. Let me please give you the benefit of the doubt.

5- Until I can no longer. There is only so long that I can stomach sexist treatment. That I can brush off the expectation that I bite my tongue. That I sacrifice my own self-worth to avoid an awkward conversation. That I sugar coat the furious rage that is bellowing in my stomach trying to climb out of my esophagus and lurch over my vocal cords to tell you to f**k your self in no uncertain way.

6- Some of you may have been the recipient of my rage. If I’ve previously apologized for such actions, I now retract them. Still— f**k you.
A few years ago I made my new years resolution to “own the awkward situation”. This was mostly running into old classmates at the grocery store and not ducking behind the bread isle. I did really well for that one year and then resumed pretending like I didn’t see you. It just felt easier.
It has also almost always felt easier to not confront someone when they have deeply upset me if that report wasn’t already established (i.e. my family, huh). But starting a couple of weeks ago with some crazy old lady at the grocery store who accused me of attempting to steal her dropped penny that I was picking up for her, I will no longer be keeping the peace. When my soul is inflamed you’ll be hearing about it.

Here’s why. It’s not that I advocate being a bitch. It’s not that I like to be angry, I really don’t. It’s that to be true to my self I have to establish boundaries. Which is hard to do for a girl who feels like we live in one big fluid world and prefers hugs and kisses to hand shakes. I really want us all to be friends. Peace and love. But for real. If you can’t hold up your end of the bargain and step on my toes with a Mac truck for the 15th time you’ll be hearing about it. Beware, once the first few phrases escape my lips the flood gates of exactly why you need to reevaluate your entire personality and ideologies will become abundantly obvious. That’s just how I roll.

Exhibit D or F of XYZ, flip if I know:

Am I a part-time feminist? Please don’t make me feminist or post one of those damn “I don’t have to hate men to be a feminist” memes. But I will post this one:


That pretty much wraps it up. I’m really into playing with my own identity, female and other wise. But, because I am foremost invested in the preservation of people’s humanity and naturally the protecting of my own there are lines. Let me tell you about it if need be. However, that doesn’t change the fact that the groceries are heavy, please bring your happy butt outside and help me carry them in.

I just want to love you, let me.


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