On Being a Bitch

domestication, Love, social awareness, soulfood, therapy

Take a seat, let’s chat about this, it’s long over due.

One of my many muses Erin Brown posted a snippet from her most recent book about not being afraid to embody the word bitch because no one knows what it means any way.

I have had a very different experience with this word. The meaning is always contextual. And I’ve been called it a lot. It comes in two varieties, “You’re being a bitch” and, “You’re a bitch”.

Being a bitch typically comes from those around me who are more emotionally evolved. They distinguish being because they understand that I am a person with a myriad of ways of being, hats I wear, tasks I do, and conversations I have. What they unconsciously know is that being a bitch indicates a behavior or behavior pattern. We are not our behaviors, simple. Our behaviors are our personality, and our personalities are the vehicles for our souls. 

Please consider this next time that you think someone is bitchy or a bitch. Actually they are acting in “that” way. It’s the “that“, that’s subjective.

[Sorry to nitpick the semantics, but words have power.]

So, let’s talk about that.

First we have to understand that our ways of being are adaptive to our environment.  Personalities are the way that we have found that works for us to show up in the world and receive the feedback that we want and need. From this place we can unpack the bitchy behavior.

Yesterday, I was asked to conceptualize my family of origin as a square, and each person in it took up their own organic shape with their personalities (i.e., means to met needs) My shape (and your shape) is thus the negative space. Here’s a little drawing to help illustrate the point:

Today, I wanted to stretch this a little further. Imagine the box as our entire society. Now sprinkle in patriarchy, gender scripts, financial power, politics, our education system, opportunities, shame, sisterhood, joy, race, your neighborhood, your inner dialogue and every single interpersonal relationship that you’ve ever had. Dang that box is crowded.

And where are you? You’re (I’m) that squiggly blue bit trying to make sense of it all, integrating, wanting to be seen or not seen at all. We accommodate and respond to every single thing around us in a fraction of a second always!  You might be going with the flow, you may be making waves and you might be chillin’ under the surface of the water. Or if you’re a human you flex in and out of doing all three.

These are usually unconscious decisions. We’ve laid down these patterns in early childhood, solidified them through our teenage years and are carrying those shells everywhere with us as adults. Seeing that can be insightful, it can be painful, but it can also be liberating.

Here’s what I know to be my truth. Sometimes people perceive me to be a bitch. And that’s their assessment of me that I’m not concerned with changing. Because I know all of me. I know the expansiveness of my soul. I know all of the roles that I step into on a given day and I hold loving space for each of those. So, when the environment is just so and I feel the impulse to express myself in a way that is strong and firmly rooted in what I believe to be true I do so. I step into my power. I’m not afraid of it and I’m not afraid of what “you’ll/they’ll” think of me when I do. 

The goal in life is not to be liked by everyone. I have a laundry list of other goals that will always, always be vastly more important than this one. 

Here’s the second part. Yes, we all wish that our childhoods were more ideal. Wish that our past and current situations demanded less bitch power and more along for the ride. But, you can come to respect that those and this situation were not that.

Many members of my family worked doggedly to break me down. Strip me of my opinions. They were massively confrontational. I spent too many of those formative years at war, screaming, hitting, crying, fighting for my voice and space. Fighting to simply be in a way that aligned with my conscious.

In those early years  I didn’t just learn to fight, I also learned to choose my battles. To be impeccably informed. To spit facts like fire out of my mouth. They taught me to tap into a deep well of inner strength. I also learned a lot of coping strategies that I’m actively dismantling. Yet I respect them, because they got me to where I am now, in tact.

The girl who you may call bitch, know that she is so much more. She is a fortress and a butterfly. She is who she needs her to be. She is perfect. 

give ’em hell

Love

You will always attract the kind of person you believe you deserve.

A few weeks ago I was blaring the Dirty Heads Pandora station whilst showering. White guys singing reggae is always good in my book. Then out of the speakers and into my enraged heart came this song.  Following are the lyrics from Best of Us by the Dirty Heads.

She takes my shoes off when I pass out in the morning

Dead asleep from a night out with the boys

If she came with us I’d have to send a warning:

She can drink with the best of us

She can smoke and she can drink as much as I can

She made me food and rolled a joint when I broke my hand

Fightin’ with her older brother, showed him I’m a man

And she’s as cool as the best of us

She doesn’t get mad when I’m out of control

When I’m blacked out drunk, at the top of my lungs

Man she just laughs and rolls

She’s my lady, baby I know this is always true

I see you yellin’ at your girlfriend,

Mine’s the shit, well how ’bout you?

Givin’ head and we were driving down the freeway

Comin’ home from San on a friday

We were laughin’ ‘cuz her body was in my way

She’s as cool as the best of us

Well she can rock and she can move it with me slowly

Nobody told me she can move it like that

I didn’t see it, didn’t buy it ’till she showed me

That she can drink with the best of us

Well she don’t get mad when I’m out of control

When I’m blacked out drunk, at the top of my lungs

Man she just laughs and rolls

She’s my lady, baby I know this is always true

I see you yellin’ at your girlfriend,

Mine’s the shit, well how ’bout you?

She likes the way I smell when I come home late

She tells me ‘give em hell’ before I come on stage

She likes her beer real cold and her whiskey straight

Stayin’ up all night and then we sleep all day

But if the sun comes steppin’ in early

And I’m waitin’ for my wallet to be empty

‘Cuz last night the stack’s level I was off my lead

I can still look at her with no anxiety because

She don’t get mad when I’m out of control

When I’m blacked out drunk, at the top of my lungs

Man she just laughs and rolls

Well she’s my lady, baby I know this is always true

I see you yellin’ at your girlfriend,

Mine’s the shit, well how ’bout you?

She don’t get mad when I’m out of control

When I’m blacked out drunk, at the top of my lungs

Man she just laughs and rolls

She’s my lady, baby I know this is always true

I see you yellin’ at your girlfriend,

Mine’s the shit, well how ’bout you?

I’m hoping that I don’t have to explain to the masses all of the ways that this song is degrading to women. It speaks for itself. I am worried because this seems to be the way of the future. Too many boys are given few if any expectations. Positive adult male role models that treat women respectfully are more and more a rarity. And have been for dare I say, ever?  And then shit like this comes out of their mouths and into popculture.

This isn’t necessarily the norm coming out of the radio. Though I am particularly fond of the musical masterpiece Talk Dirty primarily because of this golden line: Got her saved in my phone under ‘big booty’.  That pops out of the radio on the trek to preschool far too often. The absurdity makes me smile.  But the reality that we humans are merely monkeys imitating our dominant males, is frightening.

For the record: as a woman, as a mother and of the proud owner of a big booty, none of this rhetoric is getting anyone anywhere. It’s detrimental to the state of… humanity, love, relationships, feminism and decency.  It’s just for entertainment, you say. I can give you that for dance party remixes but a love song going on and on about how your girl doesn’t get mad when you get drunk as a skunk and are ‘at the top of your lungs’.  Oh, no sir.

Here’s the conversation that we should be having, why are you conducting yourself like this in the first place? Sure that’s your prerogative. But do so, in a manner that isn’t disrespectful to your lady. I get that it’s such a relief to have a woman who isn’t nagging you to be a responsible adult. Who doesn’t impose any expectations on you. Maybe at this juncture of your life that’s what you need, a good time, an ugly fist fight and someone to roll you a j and make you some munchies.
But let’s let your situation be yours and not flex, “Mine’s the shit, well how ‘bout yours”, on all of your listeners. Especially because your demographic isn’t exactly the most wholesome bunch. I know I’ve dated them. As the voice of their ex, current and future girlfriends: ohhhh hell no. We’re mad, we aren’t going to just laugh and roll. We need you to be a fucking man. Yes, I realize that the concept of that is ephemeral and may have completely disintegrated. If Best of Us encapsulates your fantasy then please pull together the pieces of reality and get a clue. If that’s beyond your capacity than stay the fuck away from me and mine. We aren’t that girl and we’re disgusted.

Within hours of each other I heard that song and read some article probably entitled, How To Find Your One True Love or some shit like that.

And, per usual I’m trying to teach myself how to love and be loved.  So I read it: manifest destiny, knowledge is power, curiosity killed the cat. Ha. My mind.

I didn’t write the following. I pasted it from somewhere. In my haste I forgot the citation. Or you know even a really broad reference. Bet my pinterest knows. Lo siento.

“The truth is that we all come with some sort of a price tag. We rely on so many superficial things to measure our value and our worth by: appearance, intelligence, success. But no matter how you choose to calculate it, your price tag is determined by one thing and one thing alone: Yourself.

I wish someone could have told me that you get to determine the price that you will place upon yourself. But more so, I wish I would have known the reality that the price I choose is also the price at which I’ll be purchased. I spent so much of my life undervaluing my worth, thinking I wasn’t good enough, smart enough or cute enough. I made decisions based on what I believed I deserved, and my inability to see my true worth took me down some roads I wish I never would have traveled.”

Most importantly: Ladies: Yes, it seems that the spineless roll over and laugh sort of girls are all the rage. But they’re wrong. And they’re only right if we allow them to be. I won’t stand for it. I may stand-alone as a consequence. But, at least I’m standing up.

Blurred Visions

silly goose, social awareness
This mornin’ I drove back from dropping Ev off at school and scoured the radio for something listenable. Turns out if Mariachi music isn’t your cup o’ tea then your left with 1 questionable rock station, a semi-oldies station and a NPR that makes KCUR sound like a daily parade for your ears. So I settled on the greatest hits station. Because this was playing:
No freedom til we’re equal 
Damn right I support it 

Now I’m not going to pretend to be savvy to pop culture. Last time I checked Mclemore was getting drafted 🙂 Seriously. And the first time I heard Thrift Shop was from the mouth of a 5 year old. I’m not cool and that’s okay. But this song made me stop the dial. It sounded like semi-spoken word poetry. I just felt a sense of pride that main stream-cool kid-culture is getting something positive shoved down their auditory canals for once.Then Blurred Lines came on. And I turned it up far too loud for 9 in the morning. My booty shook under my seat belt. ‘Cause I’m an animal baby??? Allright. So I think the lyrics are fucked up. He had me until he was going to rip her ass in half. Seriously where is your mother? I do think it’s groovy and I wish I could unknow the lyrics. Yada yada yada google that viral post about how feminists want Robin Thicke to die. They probably have a point. I’m just not really surprised.

I mean I guess it’s good that people have found a cause. But where were they in 1999 when Sisco was bestoying this gem http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oai1V7kaFBk upon us.
Let me see your thong…. seems pretty appropriate for a junior high dance. Or hows about my good friend Sir Mix A Lot? I mean really Baby Got Back was more of a celebration of my backside than degrading. So let’s be real. Sometimes songs that we like, okay really like and most importantly inspire us to find a unsuspecting boy and grind our butts all over don’t have the most savory lyrics. Am I okay with that? I don’t know. Do I support an old skool dance party whenever possible? Sure do.

Now what I’m really angry about was this. In celebration of Beyonce’s 32nd b-day they had a Destiny’s Child/Beyonce marathon and this shiz came out of my speakers:

Let me help you
Take off your shoes 
Untie your shoestrings
Take off your cufflinks (yeah) 
Do ya wanna eat boo (yeah)
Let me feed you
Let me run your bathwater 
Whatever you desire…i’ll supply ya
Sing you a song, turn my game on 
I’ll brush your hair… put your du-rag on 
You want a foot rub (yeah) 
You want a manicure 
Baby I’m yours I wanna cater 2 u boy’


Let me cater 2 you 
Cause baby this is your day 
Do anything for my man 
Baby you blow me away 
I got your slippers, 
your dinner, 
your dessert
And so much more 
Anything you want 
Let me cater 2 u 
Inspire me from the heart
Can’t nothing tear us apart
You’re all I want in a man

Baby I’m happy your home 
Let me hold you in my arms 
I just want to take the stress away from you 
Makin sure that i’m doin my part (oh)
Boy is there something you need me to do (oh)
If you want it (i got it) 
Say the word (i will try it)
I know whatever I’m not fulfilling
another woman is willing (oh)
Im gonna fulfill you my body and spirit 

I promise ya i’ll keep myself up 
remain the same chick,you fell in love with
I’ll keep it tight,I’ll keep my figure right
I’ll keep my hair fixed,keep rocking the hottest outfits
When you come home late, tap me on my shoulder i’ll roll over
Baby I heard you Im here to serve you if it’s love you need 
to give it is my joy, all I want to do is cater to you boy 

Are you flipping kidding me ladies??? “I know whatever I’m not fulfilling another woman is willing.” “I’ll keep it tight, I’ll keep my figure right.” Are are fucking kidding. Is anyone else outraged? 

Maybe there’s a totally double standard here. I’m open to that debate. But I can brush off a dude telling me to shake my ass but a fellow group of women lamenting about all of the things that they have to cater to their man so they don’t run off and get fulfilled by another woman. Well fuck that dude. Be my guest. Run off. ‘Cause you’re gonna have to have sunshine coming out of your ass before I’m going to untie your shoes, brush your hair, run your bath water, make you dessert and “serve you if it’s love you need”. I’m angry that these words even exist. 

It’s one thing to listen to degrading words come from a mans mouth. But it’s another for women to say it to them selves and set that standard. 

Sorry bro, I ‘aint Beyonce, Kelly or Michelle. I’m also not an animal.  But I could use my bath water run. Any takers? 

To their credit they did write Bills, Bills, Bills… now there’s something that I can identify with 🙂 

*vintage post from when Blurred Lines was news*

I can’t make this shit up

social awareness

Well, call me John McCain, I’m a mo’ fo’ flip flopper.

Three times in my adult life I have felt extremely threatened.
The first was in November of 2011 when I was chased down 15th St. in Lawrence buy a guy in a hoodie and converse high tops. Thankfully the combination of adrenaline and being in actually long distance running shape kept me at least half a block a head of him the whole time.

The second was this past summer in Lawrence when a guy in a car was super creepy, slowed down beside me (when I was running again at night…. lesson learned) and pulled into a parking lot that was in the direction of where I was heading.

And the third was at 5:34 this morning.
The phone rang, I reached over half asleep. Must be work, someone didn’t show up, or I didn’t show up… wait what time is, what day?

It’s a private number.

“Hello.”
“Reagon?” –He pronounced my name right, which usually tips me off that it’s someone I know.

It’s a slightly raspy, white (I’m assuming) male voice with a slight country twang. Which is a little odd for these parts, the inflection here is more hispanic than anything else.

“Yes, who is this?”

I don’t remember the exact back and forth. A lot of me insisting that he tells me who this is. And him telling me,

– Are you going to do what I want you to do?
– Are you going to listen to me?
-I’m coming over there, I just got off of work.

More of me getting angered and telling him that I have no idea who he is or what he wants.

He says twice before I hang up, “I will kill. I will kill.”

Click.

The phone rings immediately, private number.

This time with more anxiety and less friendly undertones.
“Who is this! Leave me alone!”

Again, “I’ll come over there. I’ll find you with your pretty blonde hair.”

At this point I’m out of bed, semi-panicked. I walk out to the living room, put him on speaker phone and look at my boyfriend like a helpless baby bunny. Fix this.

He takes the phone.

“Who in the fuck is this?” In his most angry scary [black] man voice.
Nothing. Again,
“Who in the fuck is this?”
Silence. The creeper hung up.

Can I get a unanimous what the fuck???

Immediately, after the first creepy words out of his mouth. I ran through all of the assholes that I know that would be telling me these things. Nope, doesn’t sound familiar.

They probably got my information from a childcare add that I posted on craigslist recently for over winter break. It was a nice heaping dose of well, the internet isn’t actually the cuddly place that I want it to be. Real life skeezos trolling the childcare section of Craigslist to stalk mothers for psychotic kicks and giggles with sexual undertones.

***Okay, it has been pointed out to me by my loving wonderful compassionate comforting boyfriend that I deserve a Darwin Award for posting way too much personal information on Craigslist. “List of worst places for stalkers and pervs, 1) Craigslist”. Duly noted.***

Photo on 5-18-14 at 6.36 PM #3

 Does this picture make you want to rape me? Kill me? 

At what point in life do you stop living your life in an honest, out loud way, and hide because well… there are bad people in this world and you should know better?

**In my defense, because instead of being nice about it and acknowledging that it was a really upsetting situation for me J and I have been fighting about how I could be so dumb to post something on Craigslist. Yes, lesson learned, I’ve more than acknowledged that. But, it’s not like I posted an add in the personals section. It was a really straightforward childcare add. Yes I included my phone number, but this also isn’t my first time posting an add like this or one selling furniture that I’ve posted my name and number on and had nothing but legitimate wholesome inquiries. Yes, I was naive. Yes, I had a wake up call about the potential for seriously fucked up shit happening because of Craigslist, but in ABSOLUTELY NO WAY WAS I SOLICITING THIS. It’s like telling girls that they got raped because they wore skanky clothes to a party. Existing in this world as a woman, who has a phone number, a picture and a name does not mean that I was asking to be sought out and harassed and death threatened.*

Other than this being a ridiculous story, that nothing can be done about (yes, I called the police, yes I filed a really vague police report that they can’t actually follow up on), here’s what I have been reflecting on today:

In this morning’s moment of panic, I was so God damned happy to have a man under my same roof and a man eating dog on the couch next to him.

I was even more happy that the voice that came out of his mouth was that of a “scary black man”, I hope he sounded like a “demon”. I hope that your hick ass got all of your I’m scared of black men panties in a bunch and shit your pants.
In reality there is basically nothing scary about J, but that dude didn’t need to know that. Did he? There he is with our killer guard dog:

j and meena

But, only one of them are nice when someone comes to the door stranger or not. Meena (that beautiful yet crazy lab german shepard mix) will flip all of her shit and nearly eat a 4 year old if we let her. Things like– this morning, that one fun time that my house got broken into and meticulously combed over, or when a drugged out dude staggered towards Ev and I on our front step while rustling for something in his back pack– that I couldn’t be more over joyed to have a scary fucking dog. She’s actually a big baby, I put my hand in her mouth to pet her tounge on a regular basis. But, hear ye, hear ye, dear stranger. There’s a very real possibility that if you pose a real threat that she will sink her teeth into your soul and I like to keep it that way.

So, here’s the flip flop. I think that it’s absolutely ludicrous that a good portion of the white population historically has and still are vilianizing innocent black boys and men based on bullshit sterotypes. If you need to step outside of your caucasian box and read something from the black perspective I recommend this article about being a 6’4” black man in America.

Butttttttttt, there was this one time when (I’m making some assumptions about the jack ass that called me today) I was glad that this particular man scared easy of my black boyfriend.

How do you reconcile this?

Remember that little vignette that I gave earlier about being chased for blocks down a dark street. Well I lost that WHITE guy at a stop light. Turned the other way and ran to my Mom’s house. Completely frantic I told my brother the story (who is one of those gun toting, right wing lunatics). He promptly walked out to his room, loaded his shot gun and walked out side to patrol the house. Is this crazy? Debatable. Was it comforting- yes. If he would have found that guy, and miraculously correctly identified him and shot him, dead or not, would I have been happy? Relieved? Probably not. I don’t believe in guns. I think that they are excessive force. I don’t think that people should have them in their homes. I think that conceal and carry is a highly disturbing policy. I think that this country desperately needs gun control.

But, those two times I felt so much safer knowing that there was something “big and scary” between me and what could be a terrible situation.

So who are we when in a moment of panic. Confrontation. In the midst of really scary shit that we abandon our moral positions. Should I have told that man on the phone this morning that he probably didn’t want to fuck with me because I have a very sweet, articulate, funny boyfriend that wouldn’t be very happy about the things he was saying to me?

Am I part of the problem?

Is that a risk you take when you go out of your way to try and attack or threat to attack a helpless woman (uhhhh this is a whole other internal debate about needing to be protected by a man, maybe I’ll write about that next) that there maybe some very terrible repercussions like her trigger happy little brother and his 12-gauge, or the proverbial black man that could grab you like “Hulk Hogan”.

Can I spend my time worrying about that? I have today.

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 dictionary.com 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:

feminism

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.