Surprise

Every year Scott likes to "surprise" me by taking me to the lovely little coastal town of Astoria for my birthday. And because I'm in denial about how the passage of time works, I make every effort to forget about my birthday since I've been old enough to drive, vote, and drink for some time now and another birthday is really just about getting older. Which I refuse to do. Scott is smart and he knows this, so it truly is a surprise, each and every time. When you have kids and suddenly find yourself alone with your significant other, something magical happens. And by magical I mean you have absolutely no clue what to do because your life is usually being run by tiny dictators who don't let you call in on sick days, nor do they care if you accuse them of being narcissistic attention whores. They just nod in agreement. Every time we head to Astoria, winding down the two hour drive on Hwy 30, we start talking about all the great things we're going to do once we get there, including climbing the famous Astoria Column, a 125 foot monolith with a huge spiral staircase and a majestic hand painted frieze that circles the exterior. Over 400,000 people visit it every year to take in the sweeping views of Young's bay, the Coast Range and Columbia River, and farther out, the Pacific Ocean. You can't not visit the Column when you go to Astoria, it's almost a moral imperative. We've never even seen it.
Instead, we find ourselves easily amused by simply walking around, reading, and window shopping. Evenings are especially mellow, with our only obligation making sure we're fed and sufficiently plied with wine. And the funny thing is, by playing it this way we almost always find ourselves in situations we couldn't have planned better. One time we happened to book our stay during the Astoria Regatta Festival and arrived just in time for the big parade. The town was swollen with twice the amount of people, and most had staked out their festival seating the night before. We literally had no clue what was going on that weekend so asked a couple of locals where a good place to grab lunch and watch the parade might be.
"Well, you could try Fort George Brewery or The Wet Dog Café but you're not going to be able to get a seat. The parade is just about to start, but hey, good luck!" Encouraged by our lack of planning and consistent good luck we decided to try Fort George, and sure enough, we scored a seat outside right in front of the parade. A couple of sausages and beers later and we were off to the Regatta Queen's Coronation, a concert in the park or the Seaman's Memorial.
Which leads to later that evening when, having showered and spent the majority of our energy, we found ourselves lying on the bed in the quaint Franklin Station Bed and Breakfast "Tranquility Room" discussing the current state of the porn industry. As one does on vacation.
"Babe, what's with all the spitting and swearing?" I asked
"I don't know, it doesn't really seem to add anything to the storyline," Scott grabbed his phone and cued up a few examples.
"I know, right? I mean, I get that the delivery guys' "package" might not have been what she was expecting but she seems kind of into it. Why so angry?" I asked. "And what ever happened to pubic hair? Seriously, remember that huge bush on the woman in Life of Brian? Now a full frontal is like looking at Barbie porn. I'm not sure looking like a 12 year old is cool in this context. "
"Well, they must be on to something......I don't know, what do you think?" Scott is a man who asks for nothing and is grateful for everything, so when I hear things like, "what do you think?" I tend to translate it as "so you're sayin' there's a chance?" And because I love him, I'm usually pretty much up for whatever it is he might be hinting at.
Now, I'm not stranger to waxing, although I typically don't make a habit out of outsourcing it because I'm both handy and capable. I'm "handy-capable", if you will. The one exception was when I was hugely pregnant and about to go to a company sales meeting that involved a pool and a bathing suit. I'm the kind of girl who both loves clothes and would prefer to live without them. And when it's hot, I wear as little as possible. Pregnant or not, a one piece was not an option and tankinis were out of the question. Damn the haters, I would wear a bikini or nothing! The only problem was, I couldn't see past my belly so I had no idea what was happening down there, and being ungroomed held more dire consequences for me than being pregnant in a bikini. I decided to seek professional help and found myself asking a total stranger wielding a popsicle stick and wax heated to 140° F to deforest my nether regions. Since I was new to this game, I asked for a "Brazillian", thinking she'd take a bit off the sides, both top and undercarriage and that would be that. Having gone through 8 months of laying half naked on a table with someone inspecting your lady parts, I wasn't really that concerned about the appointment, until the esthetician poured the searing substance onto my labia, spread it like butter, and ripped off not only hair follicles but a layer of skin. Fun fact: when you're pregnant you're also more sensitive and the pain was far worse than I would have expected. What I didn't know was that a "Brazillian" entailed full removal instead a little tidying up, so imagine my surprise when I heard "Ok, we can give that area a break if you want. Go ahead and roll over, and get on your hands and knees."
What. The Actual. Fuck????
I'm cool with sporting a stark-naked mons veneris but waxing the naughty hole was nowhere in my little plan. Yet there I was, on my hands and knees with my huge belly nearly touching the table while the esthetician peeled apart my lower cheeks and started spreading warm wax all around. Ironically, that part was the least painful and I had to admit, in lieu of a bidet, it kind of made sense. I couldn't get through the rest though, and so when I got home all I could do was sit with an ice pack shoved in my underwear to help the swelling.
So while I fully intended to rise to the occasion for Scott, waxing was out of the question. And since we were on topic and needed more wine anyway, I suggested we pop over to Safeway and I would grab some Nair and give it a whirl.
"Honey, should I get sensitive or extra- strength?" I didn't want to go through all of this and up with a rash or a five o'clock shadow two days after removing my fur-kini.
"I don't know! I've never even been in this aisle!" Scott was no help at all. So I grabbed a bottle of pubic Agent Orange, went back to our little bed and breakfast and started slathering. Five minutes later I was smooth as a baby's butt, and just as hairless. Let's just say it was well received.
When we got back home I thought I might try and keep it up, being the good wife that I am. I still had a fairly full bottle of Nair, so when the dreaded stubble came back I once again defoliated.  Scott was at Home Depot so I thought this might be a nice surprise, but shortly after rinsing, I started to feel a stinging sensation, kind of like when you pour lemon juice over a cut. The stinging got worse, and was soon followed by swelling and what looked like red lines forming along the tender tissue of my underside. I could not, for the life of me, figure out what was going on until I grabbed the bottle, re-read the warning label and realized I have chemically burned my coochie. Apparently there needs to be a mandatory waiting period before you re-engage with a product designed to scorch the earth of your glorious valley of promise. I already knew to reach for the ice packs, but since this was a burn I thought maybe some calendula cream might help. But then I needed a way to keep the cream on my skin so I thought, "Hmm, maybe a band aid will work." I may not have thought that one through but the screaming red canvas of pain was hijacking my higher reasoning capabilities, so I reached into the closet to see what I could find. Did I mention we have two girls? One of them small enough to still enjoy cartoons and stuffed animals, and so when I reached into the closet what appeared in my hand was the one of the most ironic and hysterical bandages I could have found: a brightly colored pink and yellow Hello Kitty Band Aid. Which inspired the following text to Scott, completely out of context:
"OMG HONEY!! I just almost put a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on my labia!!"
Silence. But I heard him laughing all the way at Home Depot.

Because I love him.

Introduction- This Book is Not For You

I know what you’re thinking. Most authors actually want people to read their books. They spend a lot of time and money promoting them. They even go on book tours which makes it hard to hide the fact that they actually wrote a book.  With a career in sales, I spend the majority of my time convincing others they would be an idiot not to buy from me, so I get your confusion.

But a mostly true memoir requires a different sort of sale; the one where I give you the chance to opt out because you get a sense of what’s about to appear on the pages in front of you and it offends your sensibilities so much you’re either going to hemorrhage disgust or send me a very uncool email. Neither of which I want. So eyes wide open people, here’s where you decide.

This book is not for you if you have an issue with swearing. I try to be judicious and only swear as a means of punctuation, exasperation, or to make a point that just wouldn’t be complete without it, but sometimes I feel compelled to drop an f bomb, and often feel much better for it. If that offends you, walk away now.

If the language of hyperbole is confusing or disorienting, you might want to reconsider going any farther. And if you have an undying loyalty to the exact truth, consider yourself warned. That’s why it’s a mostly true memoir. Oprah would appreciate the distinction.

Writing about yourself is fairly daunting, especially when you vacillate between levity and accuracy. Because as much as I’m a fan of (funny) revisionist history, there are stories that deserve the honest light of day. And those are the hardest. Reframing one’s life story in way that’s both truthful and palatable is for sure one of the most daunting tasks I’ve ever signed up for, but here I am. Huge credit to Jenny Lawson, Allie Brosch, Amy Poehler, Caitlan Moran and all the other brave women who told their stories in ways that were both amusing and allowed them to stand in their own integrity. I am inspired.

Other landmines you might encounter: Deep discussions about my lady parts, scatological humor and a few painful inflection points that I just couldn’t make funny. I have done my best to broach these unfunny moments with as much grace and compassion for all those involved as I can, but be warned. It’s not pretty.

Still here? Awesome. Strap yourself in and enjoy the ride. 

Yoga Concerns Me

I have a love-hate relationship with yoga. I’m definitely on board with relaxing and getting more flexible, but there are certain.... how shall I say this… concerns I have. That are actually well grounded and I’ll tell you why. True story:

I’m in yoga class with my boss, of all people, who happened to be male. At this point in my life I’m in pretty decent shape, so I figure this is a great time to show off how talented and flexible I am, which I’m hoping he’ll see as a metaphor for why I should get a promotion. I work through most of the poses like a mad Yogi Ninja until we get to Malasana, a squatting pose, also known as “garland pose”. It looks like this:  

Apparently the purpose of this pose is to open up your hips, thighs, and groin but the “garland” part still confuses me since( there’s no strings of beads hanging off my body anywhere.) Now, if you’re a woman, you know damn well what can happen when you “relax” your groin: first a loud sucking sound happens, followed by a squelching sound similar to passing gas except THAT’S NOT WHERE IT’S COMING FROM. And in some yoga classes (Bikram, I'm looking at you...) this is not only acceptable but encouraged; however, this was NOT one of those classes. As soon as that squeaker escaped my lady hole, I immediately looked around in confusion and disgust, as if to say, "Who would do such a thing?!" Sadly, my boss was not fooled. And I'm pretty sure no one else was either.  And I'm not saying the two incidents are related, but I didn't get the promotion. 

Chapter One: That Awkward Moment Where I Exist

I was born a poor Cambodian boat child.
It was 1973, the Chinese Year of the Ox, and the nightly news was filled with stories that spoke to the shifting cultural and political landscape. The country wanted to know if their President was a crook, Soylent Green totally ruined euthanasia, and the United States officially ended bombing Cambodia after 12 years of combat in Southeast Asia. Waves of refugees flooded into the U.S., landing on our shores in rickety boats teeming with women and children. It was during one of those evening broadcasts that I first saw these "boat people" and I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. I was only four, and even though I didn't really understand what was happening, I knew there was something very unfair about it. My brother Lance, 15 months older, didn't seem to have much of a take on the situation, but somehow I knew something bad had happened to those kids. My mother and I sat together in front of the t.v. listening to the newscast, and I couldn't help asking,
"Why are all those people coming here? Where are they from?" My mother patiently answered my questions. Usually it was my dad whose eyes were glued to the news, especially since he'd fought in Vietnam and Korea and so had a wealth of information on the subject, but he'd been in the bathroom, leaving my mom on her own.
"There's too many kids and not enough mommies," I said, "Where are all the parents?" "Well, their parents may have died, or got lost, we just don't know, "my mom said, "so they'll have to find homes here and find families to adopt them."
I pondered that for a while, rolling it around in my four year old mind until finally I said, “I sure am glad I don't have to be adopted like those kids."
Silence.
And then, “Jack, could you come in here please?” I guess it was the perfect time for the big reveal, because as soon as my dad came into the room, my mom took a deep breath, looked at my brother and I, and stunned us with the news that we were, in fact, adopted. Just like those kids.
Mic.

Drop.

There's lots of ways people react to news like this. Some people are shocked and confused (yes), some think it's kind of cool and unique (also yes) and others just don't ever forgive the person who outed them. My brother fell into that last category, and I'm pretty sure he still holds a grudge. Because really, completely reversing your life story without any warning or consent really is kind of a dick move. 

I think I kind of blacked out after that but I do remember some shocking revelations. As it turned out, my brother and I actually came from two separate biological families. Soooo many questions around that one; did we count as real brother and sister? Could I just choose to remove myself from our familiar sphere any time he pissed me off? I was seriously starting to see an upside to this.

This also meant that I had free range to create my own revisionist history, complete with an origin story that reflected how truly Cambodian I was. Because, you know, I was adopted. Just like those kids. Never mind that my light brown hair and green eyes weren’t exactly exotic… those details were none of my business and had no place informing my understanding of how I came to be. In my four year old mind, I was born in the jungle, put on a boat, and sent into the arms of my adoptive parents. Full stop.

But then it got EVEN BETTER. I found out that I had actually lived in an orphanage!!! That just sounded glamorous, like Little Orphan Annie without the annoying musical theater or creepy billionaire sponsor.

My brother, however, was still not amused. It seemed to me that something fundamental in him changed that day. He had been a happy, easy going kid with no evidence of damage from the occasional febrile seizures experienced as a baby; but after receiving the news of his adoption a sort of internal deflation started, and kept going well into his teen years. He just seemed a little sadder, more disappointed, and possibly a little betrayed. He was, after all, only about 5 or 6 at the time.

I’m sure there was fallout from this revelation, there must have been. Although most of the fallout happened on the front end, before my parents were even married. My dad went into the Merchant Marines at 15, skipping high school with permission from his parents who really could have cared less. He’d been shipped around, from household to household by the time he was nine, finally being sent alone on a bus to live with his father in Kansas. Unfortunately, his mother, who lived in Missouri neglected to tell his father he was coming, and so upon arrival, my nine year old father walked aimlessly around the bus station until a police officer was able to sort out the situation.

My mother was born in San Francisco to a loving but alcoholic father and a (possibly) bi-polar Christian Scientist mother. To be clear, Christian Science is NOT to be confused with Scientology—this is probably the most commonly asked question I get whenever I broach the subject. It’s not far off, but it’s not the same. Mom grew up learning words like “corporeal”, mortal mind, and being told that "Matter, sin, and sickness are not real, but only illusions," Which translated into no doctors, dentists, or optometrists. As both my grandmother and her sister, my Great Aunt were deeply invested in Christian Science, they had a natural bias towards all things different. Like Catholics, or astrophysicists. So imagine, when my beautiful 19 year old mother hooked up with my 29 year old separated-but-not-divorced-with-three-kids father. All hell broke loose.

Which brings me back to the pre-fallout. Despite my grandmother’s best attempts at warding my father off, (“I hope you fall down an open manhole!” “I hope you go to Alaska and lose your snow shoes!” “I think you should take a long walk off a short pier”) my parents got married anyway. Which makes me kind of proud to know that their whole romance started off as a rebellion, because it made them more human. And oh, they were human alright! Both of them had a fondness for alcohol that if not staunched before us kids came along, would have landed both of them in jail or rehab. I bet we would have had a great time partying together.

And so when my parents brought me home to meet my grandparents for the first time, it was my grandfather who looked at me and said, “There’s our Kelley,” which was a reference to his mother's maiden name, and how I ended up with my name (1). And while there was no doubt that my grandma loved me, she developed a quirky little habit when I was around. We were a close family, with the good luck of having cousins, aunts and uncles nearby. My cousin Lori and I grew up almost like sisters, and spent a ton of time at grandma's house. My grandma had a way of introducing us to literally everyone she met; grocery clerk, bank teller, construction worker, homeless guy down by the lake... And every single time this is how it went: "This is my granddaughter Lori. And this is Kelley..... she's special. She's ADOPTED." Now, when I told my mother about this she was seriously pissed, and I was just kind of confused, because really, all I heard was "she's SPECIAL". HA! Suck it Lori! You're just a granddaughter but I'm special!!! That's the kind of happy obtuse world I inhabited. And it totally ruled. 

Adventures in SkyDiving

What is the hardest thing you have ever done?

(sooo many choices for me here)

Now, let’s see… for sure one of the hardest things I’ve ever done is jump out of a plane. And truly, I most likely would have chickened out had someone not been literally attached to my backside and thrown me out. Yes, I paid actual money for this experience.

For those of you who haven’t gone skydiving, let me just paint the picture for you. You arrive and go through a relatively fast training, where the instructions are basically like, “Free fall into the flight position”.  Personally, I thought there could have been a little more meat to the training, but apparently they’re “agile”. We all got leather helmets (I’m still not sure why) that looked like something a 1920’s fighter pilot would wear. Except I had no access to things that fire projectile rockets, so that kind of took the fun out of it. 

We all got jumpsuits. Mine was neon purple, and with the helmet made me look like Tinky Winky pretending to be an actual bullet. Once we reached our cruising altitude, a giant hole in the side of the plane magically appeared, and people starting jumping. I was the third to go, and for some reason the instructor strapped to my back decided I should sit on the edge of the opening with my body dangling outside of the plane.  This disturbed me greatly.

And even though I sometimes bend the rules,  I have a pretty strict policy about doing exactly what I’m told in most new learning situations. So instead of trying to grab onto the side of the plane I just kind of whimpered and peed a little bit, and the next thing I knew I was falling out of the sky with the intensity of a dateless cheerleader a week before prom. 
Which is pretty intense.

Should you choose to do this activity, please know that you will NOT be able to breathe normally. Or at all for about the first 10 seconds. After the hypoxia sets in though, it’s really pretty cool. You should totally do it. Did I sell it? 

Our Million Dollar Idea!

Actual text conversation with Scott tonight:

Me: OMG we don’t have any wine!! WTF??!!

Scott: What?.... How?...... why?.......how?????

That’s it, we need a vineyard.

Me: I KNOW RIGHT?!! I just hit my FB community to see if anyone would bring me a bottle. (I really did) And I’m tagging you.

Scott: Isn’t there some sort of vino take out place?

Me: Dude! That’s our million dollar idea!!

Scott: Right?! Dial-a-booze? Phone-a-bottle? Text-a-tankard?

Me: HAHAHAHHA! Select-a-sommelier?

Scott: Liquor is quicker… when you have it delivered? I’m not sure who we would hire as drivers though. Mormons?

Me: THIS BUSINESS PLAN BUILDS ITSELF!!

Clever conversations

I must say, I have few friends I enjoy as much as my clever, witty and uber intelligent friend Victoria. And it's not often that I actually have a chance to be clever and witty back-- at least witty enough to get an appreciative chuckle. So, imagine my delight at the response I received from the following email conversation:
 
Victoria:

.........Dreamt about you last night. Why were you flying to Antartica: please explain.


Me:


Antarctica, eh? Well, I wasn't going to reveal this quite yet but I actually have a secret seed storage attached to a network of

Tungsten-coated igloos in case the end times come. Each igloo is fully loaded with subterranean panic rooms and rice cookers. Because, you know, you could always cook a seed in a rice cooker. Also there's parrot bodyguards because, much like the MockingJay in the Hunger Games, parrots can say anything so intruders could be easily distracted whilst we flee to our respective panic rooms. But no cats, because cats typically don't care about my joy, and that is a very important component of survival.

 

I think the recent Blood Moon must have channeled my secret psychically to you, but only after I took multiple homeopathic remedies. They must have opened me up, psychically, that is.

 

Understand now?

 

Victoria:

 

HAHAHAHAHA! You are killing me! Tungsten…seed storage…parrots…cats/joy…….HOMEOPATHY!!

Conversations with S.

Scott is the love of my life, my fiance, and probably the most amazing man on the face of the earth. And while most of you know who I'm talking about, I still feel the need to protect the innocent, which clearly does not include me. And in case you didn't connect the dots, dear readers, (of whom there are none), I will soon cease to carry the hammer torch of single mama-hood.

But I digress.

The following is a mostly true recounting of an actual text between the the two of us:

me: 911!!!

s: what?! are you OK honey??do i need to come get you??

me: no, maybe, I don't know.. I'm in trouble and i need your advice

s: of course honey, what is it?

me: courtesy flush or fecal mist? seriously, i don't know what to do!!

long pause........

s: seriously honey? this is what you used the 911 text for??

me: YES! what else would i use it for?

s. oh i don't know, maybe an actual emergency??

me: i don't think you understand. i could either hide here in this stall and die of embarrassment or i could do my neighbor a solid (no pun intended) and courtesy flush, which would then leave me vulnerable to a number of diseases including but not limited to the hantavirus!!

Another long pause

s: honey, first of all, hantavirus is from rodents, not people. second, you actually pulled me out of a full mouth extraction after i FINALLY got to do a surgery with Dr. Anderson... for this?

me: clearly you've NEVER been in this situation.


And thankfully most of the conversation ended there, but seriously, this is a real concern!And while maybe it didn't all go down quite that way, you get the idea.

"Dr." Laura on working moms

So first of all, Dr. Laura can SUCK IT! She's been pretty much anti-single mother as long as I've know of her existence, and she has now released a new book strongly urging all mothers to stay at home.

Titled In Praise of Stay-at-Home-Moms, the book explains why mothers who work - either by choice or because they feel it’s necessary - are shortchanging their children, and themselves. (insert my first "hey, fuck you!" here.) Some enlightening exerpts from this new body of work:

"My heart hurts for what these women miss and what their children miss from them,” Dr. Laura tells the Wall Street Journal. “No argument, no criticism. My heart just hurts — because when you get those pudgy arms around your neck, and being told you’re someone’s lullaby — the fact that a woman would miss that is so, so sad.”

OMG, really? sad? Yeah, it actually SUCKS Dr. Laura! You think my heart didn't break every single time I had to walk out that door and leave my darling baby? Are you kiddin' me?? Yeah, my heart hurts too for what I had to miss, and quite frankly, you shoving it my face makes it NO better. Pointing out the obvious in such a salacious and condescending manner isn't helpful.

She says that while women may find it financially difficult to stay at home - particularly in these tough economic times - it’s just a matter of setting priorities and making it happen.

Really? So here's my priority: keeping a fucking roof over my head and food on my table you stupid simplistic idiot! Financially difficult? Try welfare! If I don't work, my kid goes hungry, or worse eats a steady diet of McDonalds because that's all i can afford to get her with my food stamps and welfare check. I have no one to fall back on! And with all the recent press around Octo-mom (i know, not exactly an apples to apples comparison but still) I'm sure we all get how *horrible* it is to be a single mother on welfare.

As for what she’d like to tell women who are reluctant to leave the workforce, Dr. Laura says:

“I tell these women to look in their children’s eyes. When your husband comes home, wrap your body around him at the door and look at his eyes. What people need to learn is that it’s not about the drudgery of housework — it’s about being at home for all of those incredible moments that make your life more valuable than the person who replaced you at work. No one can replace mom. Kids who don’t have moms suffer a lifetime.”

Um, hate to break it to ya, I DON'T HAVE A HUSBAND! I have no one to "wrap my body around" other than my sweet child, which i do from literally the second I pick her up until we snuggle down together at night. Oh yes Laura, I still cosleep with my six year old, which I'm sure you, as a stay at home mom, would be completely disgusted with.

Wait, what's that you say? oh, YOU WENT BACK TO WORK? WTF??!!

"Herself a mom of one, Dr. Laura says that while she did return to work after her son entered school, she arranged her schedule so that she could always be home with her child."

Well lucky you. Seriously? I guess I should have been a doctor because no one else I know is able to make it on a flex schedule. I purposely work at 6:30 am so that I can leave early. Granted, I'm never allowed to leave early enough to meet my child at school, but I still gain at least an extra hour with her by rearranging my schedule.

But wait, again, how did HER son turn out? Let's see... here's a headline:
Monday, May 21, 2007

Dr. Laura's Son Investigated by Army
The soldier son of talk radio relationship counselor Laura Schlessinger is under investigation for a graphic personal Web page that one Army official has called "repulsive." The MySpace page, publicly available until Friday when it disappeared from the Internet, included cartoon depictions of rape, murder, torture and child molestation; photographs of soldiers with guns in their mouths; a photograph of a bound and blindfolded detainee captioned "My Sweet Little Habib"; accounts of illicit drug use; and a blog entry headlined by a series of obscenities and racial epithets.

Gee, guess staying at home didn't help your kid after all, now did it? Though I suppose you would counter by pointing out that if you had gone back before he was in school, lord knows he could have turned out to be a murderer! Guess having a doctorate in P.E. (yes, physical education) doesn't actually qualify you to bitch slap us single mamas.

After McCain's daughter calls Coulter 'offensive,' conservative host calls her fat

WARNING: SERIOUS SWEAR WORDS AHEAD.. not for the kiddies!

So by now I'm going to assume you get that I pretty much despise Ann Coulter. Alot of people do, it's really not that hard to dislike someone who's so desperately invested in the politics of hate. (see previous blog...) I also identify myself as a feminist, which means that while I hate Coulter's supposed "politics" I also acknowledge that fact that she's most likely had to morph herself into the thin, whining shell of self she's become as a vehical to make it in a male dominated space. Sort of pathetic, but I get it. But what REALLY pisses me off is when women attack each other not based on any sort of intellectual sparring, but rather on the same exact misogynist bullshit that we've been trying to (openly) erradicate since 2nd wave feminism. I was reading The Raw Story online when I came across the article referenced in the title of this post. Here's a snippet:

"Meghan McCain's recent criticisms of Ann Coulter as "offensive" and "radical" haven't made her any friends among other female conservative pundits who have by turns criticized her weight and her lack of "fixed ideological principles."
Laura Ingraham mocked McCain's weight and called her "just another valley girl gone awry" on her radio show. Pretending to be McCain, Ingraham said in a faux valley girl voice "Ok, I was really hoping that I was going to get that role in the Real World, but then I realized that, well, they don’t like plus-sized models. They only like the women who look a certain way."

WTF IS THAT? Are you kidding me?? First of all, who the f* is Laura Ingraham anyway? And did she forget that she has a fucking vagina?? Hello you stupid, stupid trite(yes trite, not tight)ass bitch! Here we have a young woman putting herself out there in a very honest and authentic way, making a genuine attempt at intelligent political discourse that serves for ONCE not to alienate young Republicans... and the response is not a thoughtful evaluation of her her ideology but rather a tacit evaluation of her dress size? Again, I say, are you f*ing kidding me??? And the faux valley girl voice about made my head explode. Let's just take a step back and deconstruct the underlying message here. No wait, let's let Mehgan do it for us:

" The question remains: Why, after all this time and all the progress feminists have made, is weight still such an issue? And in Laura’s case, why in the world would a woman raise it? Today, taking shots at a woman’s weight has become one of the last frontiers in socially accepted prejudice."

I rest my case.

Another old one!

I found this article I wrote while I was still married to my daughter's father. It's geared towards two earner families, although in my case I have always been the breadwinner. Enjoy!

Is this what Feminism has gotten me? Seriously?

It’s 3:20 am, and like clockwork, my two year old lets out a howl that could wake the dead. Convinced she’s being eaten by wild tigers, I hurl myself out of bed, full tilt into her bedroom. “Mama’s here….mama’s here…” I say softly.
“Hand…..hand…” I hear plaintively back.
Oh. She just wants to hold my hand.
Of course.
No wild tigers.
5am, and the alarm goes off, and I’m out of bed again, to start my day job. But oops, no shower for me today, my daughter has heard me get up, and is devastated at the thought of my leaving. So I hold her and rock her for another half an hour, until she falls back asleep and the nanny arrives, and I finally have a chance to throw my dirty hair up into a ponytail, slap on some ill-colored makeup and run out the door. Oh wait, I have to get the car seat out and bring it in for the nanny. Now I’m late for work, my daughter has woken up again calling for me, and all I can do is rush out the door so that she doesn’t see me, to go to a job that I don’t particularly like, with people who do not understand what working mommies go through, to earn a paycheck we don’t necessarily need, all because it’s now expected that I go to work.
We’ve come a long way baby.
Now I realize, there are many positive things feminism has brought to the table. In the beginning, we had the right philosophy; it was all about choice. We wanted the choice to either stay home, or go to work. We wanted the same earning potential as our male counterparts. We wanted access to power and status, on equal terms. And while some of those things have been granted, (albeit in limited amounts), the “institutionalizing” of the feminist desire for equality has resulted in less choice, and more expectation.
The good news is that the feminist movement has provided the tools for women to demand change; the bad news is that it forgot to provide an alternate male paradigm. Yes, society has moved forward enough to at least provide lip service to equal opportunity, but if you take a look inside most two earner homes, you’ll still find the exact same division of labor that existed before second wave feminism. Most working women still come home, with groceries in hand, and immediately start managing their homes and children. We do not have the luxury of kicking off our shoes, and tuning into the news to get a little “down time” after a hard day at work. Now, we are expected to do it all. And this false notion of actually being able to do it all carries a very heavy price.
Part of the price we pay is the devalued view of motherhood. Somehow, during the fervor of the contemporary feminist movement, what I call a Cult of Motherhood was created. I’ve seen it on the playgrounds, at mommies groups, at social gatherings. Working mothers think stay at home moms have it so easy, while stay at home moms look at working women like they’re Satan incarnate. Obviously this is a broad generalization; there are plenty on non judgmental mothers out there. But the larger point is that through the many “choices” we are now offered, a backlash against mothering as a whole has emerged. Mothering is no longer seen as sacred, as a spiritual journey with a new being. Working mothers get a whopping 12 weeks off (less in some states) with minimal guaranteed job security, and are expected to bounce right back after birth. My boss thought I was insane when I came back to work after the birth of my daughter; little did I know, I was suffering from post partum anxiety and depression. Not to mention, post partum resentment for having to go back to work at all!
And working in a male dominated field, I was of course expected to put in the same amount of overtime as everyone else on the team. As far as management was concerned, there was no difference between working mothers and working fathers. I think my child would disagree.
There is a new movement now, a kind of answer to the expectation of working women. It’s called “opting out”, and many women are doing it.
Well good for you.
I’m sorry, but this is not a way of reclaiming motherhood, but more of a stop gap solution so that mothers can actually do what they really want: BE A MOTHER! For god’s sake, we actually have a term for staying with our children, the most sacred investment we can make? And how self righteous of our society to force mothers to say “I’m opting out”, as if to justify the “sacrifice” they are making, rather than proudly saying, “I am a mother. This is who I am and what I will do.”
Obviously I don’t hold the feminist movement exclusively responsible for the fact that I am now a working mother. And I also realize that there are a myriad of ways to deconstruct my analysis; I’m a middle-class, white, heterosexual woman, which begs criticism from a splintered women’s movement that I am already privileged enough. That’s partly my point. I don’t need to be part of the most oppressed demographic to say that the feminist movement hasn’t been all its cracked up to be. Am I glad women do have more options today? Of course. Am I glad I don’t have a boss that slaps me on the ass every day? Sure. But did I sign up to be superwoman, to meet the new millennium expectation of doing it all? Hell no! And still, I get out of bed at 5am to go to an uninspiring job, pay $20,000 in childcare so my daughter can miss me all day, and wrack myself with guilt for being away from home, because that is what is expected of me. Until the feminist movement can truly elevate motherhood back to its proper place, as sacred institution, and sincerely embrace a woman’s choice to be with her children, women will continue to be expected to do it all. And eventually, we will burn out.

You just knew this would get political, didn't you?

Hilary Clinton made a splash in today's newspapers when she brought her blunt candor to Asia in her first trip as the Secretary of State. She questioned the efficacy of sanctions against the repressive junta in Burma, spoke openly about a possible succession crisis in North Korea and admitted that she expected to make little progress on human rights in China. Now that pissed off the human rights workers because they feel like she was basically throwing her arms up and saying, "well, I can try but it ain't gonna work!" And guess what? She's probably right. I get that it's important to keep putting pressure on countries who continually violate human rights (wait, didn't our last president sanction torture? but i digress...) but by the same token, I think her straightforward, clear speak may serve to enhance rather than undermine policy.

There's just one problem. While I wholeheartedly support her lack of obfuscation and political jawboning, there's a cultural difference that may not be working in her favor. We already know China is notorious for female infanticide, so her chances of being fully efficacious are already somewhat limited. In addition, David Shambaugh, director of Asian policy studies at George Washington University points out that it's not so much what the subject matter is, it's how it's presented:
"Foreigners generally get much further when they do it in quiet rather than in public, when it is framed in a nonconfrontational way, and explained in terms of being in China's best interests."

So, what do you think? Should Hilary tell it like it is or should she modify her tone based on cultural rules of engagement? Do you think it's more important to tell the naked truth, or to soften it to achieve your objectives? hmmmm....

The Girl Effect

Amazing.

Salma Hayek Shares Her Breast Milk... YAY!!!

"I'm like an alcoholic. It's like, I don't care if I cry, I don't care if I'm fat, I'm just gonna do it for one more week, one more month, and then, when I see how much good it is doing her, I can't stop. It's a very powerful thing you know."
Salma Hayek

The news that Salma Hayek actually (gasp!) breastfed a sick baby in Sierra Leone while visiting in her capacity as UNICEF ambassador has caused quite a stir. Some women responded very positively, seeing her generosity for what it was, while others called her disloyal to her daughter (huh?) or simply said what she did was "so wrong."
But why does America care? It's my belief that we have a pervasive cultural misunderstanding that breastfeeding is somehow a sexual act, and that nursing another woman's child is akin to cheating on a lover. THis is a massive mistake and a huge disservice to babies. Interestingly, in many African cultures, it is not just a nice thing to do, it's expected -- although it's mostly within families. Anybody who is able to lactate and who does not feed a crying child is considered not doing the right thing. How different from our perspective! We seem to forget that nursing is within the natural order, we're literally built for it. And, our foremothers certainly employed the help of wet nurses if they were unable to produce enough for their babies.
So the question is, if you had the opportunity and the means, would you offer your milk to a starving baby? I would in a NY minute!

And now, why I HATE this woman

Ahhh yes, the always lovely and engaging Ann Coulter. For those of you out there who may have been blissfully sheltered from this screaming sea hag, here's a little info on some of the more, uh, slanderous things she's uttered. Oh wait! everything this woman says is slanderous!!

Just to give you an idea, here's the catchy headline from a recent news story:

Ann Coulter Blames Single Moms for Rape, Murder

Wow, how awesome is that for us single working mamas? But wait, there's more:

Coulter was promoting her newest book, "Guilty: Liberal "Victims" and Their Assault on America," when, during an interview with Matt Lauer, she blamed the majority of society's ills on single mothers. She claims that the "liberal media" exalts the single mom, despite the fact that -- her words, not mine -- most teenage mothers, runaways, murderers and rapists can be traced back to them. Later in her visit she told Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb that 9/11 widows "advance" socially and financially using their "victimhood as a shield."I happened to catch the interview as it aired, and watched as Coulter crossed and uncrossed her boot-clad calves and tossed the blond mane that makes her the Hottie of Hotheads. As I watched her lean forward and raise one eyebrow all the while blaming women -- her own gender -- for the downfall of society, I wondered just what could motivate such a viperous display of bile. Is she just saying these things to stir up publicity for her ridiculous tome, or is it a case of Histrionic Personality Disorder? I mean, what kind of person do you have to be to make Kathie Lee Gifford look totally disgusted? Or hey, maybe she has one of those satanic single moms. That might explain the whole thing.I have to hand it to her. If she was looking to cause outrage, she did a good job.

What NOT to do after a divorce

Or, how to BE like Demi, Ashton, and Bruce.

Your marriage is breaking up. You're in shock, you see the life you thought you would have disintigrate in front of your eyes, and you feel like you haven't been loved in years. You're left reeling, wondering what you could have done differently, how this will impact the kids, and then all the logistics of who gets what, including which friends you keep. I know. I've been there. It sucks ass.

And this, my dear fabulous women, is exactly the time you are most vulnerable, and most likely to make the fatal mistake of rebounding. I want you to stop right now and listen: DO NOT REBOUND!!! And again, I tell you this from experience. By the time I'd worked up the courage to get a divorce from my daughter's father, it had been a good three years of a loveless marriage. I had no idea this would ever happen to me, and I took all the precautions I could to ensure that this was the right lifelong partner for me. I was very upfront about who I am; he and I were best friends for over a year before we even started dating, at HIS insistance by the way, we even lived together against my better judgement because he said he wanted to be sure we could actually cohabitate together. I was clear about wanting children, and he agreed that "someday" he would want them too. My point is that even if you take all the right precautions, follow all the right "steps", you can still get blindsided.

So where does this leave you? lonely, that's where. In order to mitigate the rebound phenom, I've put together a short list of questions you need to ask to know if you're about to enter into an authentic relationship.

First and foremost, for me anyway: Do you have a 401K plan? seriously! i mean, hell, I've got a plan for the future and I'm not willing to support anyone else besides my child. So why the hell would I hook up with someone who hasn't bothered to care about planning?

2. If said potential partner has a child or children, observe very closely their relationship. Is it good? Does he call them often, keep in touch? Is he civil to his baby mama, especially in front of the kids? Does he pay child support or is he in arrears? (a sneaky way to find out about child support: propose a trip to Canada, or anywhere else he might need a passport. If he doesn't have one, and he applies and gets denied, it's probably because he's in arrears. That's how i found out. Nice, eh? ) Honestly ladies, if he can't take care of his own, how the hell do you expect him to take care of YOURS?

3. Back to the bank account: soooo, any weirdness with taxes? Again, I had to find this out the hard way. I was so swept off my feet by this "knight in shining armor" I didn't even bother to look at his financial history. Ask him about past jobs, look him up on Linked In, Google him, find him on my space or facebook... in my case, my rebound man explained his many business failures as "unfair"... and that he was "just started to get some success when ...." a layoff, downsize, whatever. A BIG red flag for the 35 plus crowd: has he ever owned a house? Seriously, if not, you might want to catagorize that one as a red flag.

4. Does he include your baby daddy, or try to push him away? Now not all of us are as lucky as I am, to have a baby daddy that I get along with very well now. As mothers, of course we want the perfect childhood for our children, so by the time we're done berating ourselves for getting out of a miserable marriage, of course we try to make it as pallatable for the children as possible. Does rebound boy support this? If not, tell him to fuck off fast. Seriously. You should have a ZERO tolerance approach for anyone who A. tells you how to parent or criticizes your parenting, or B. tells you how to manage your relationship with your ex, or C. does not support having blended celebrations with your baby daddy. You need to tell rebound boy to grow the hell up and get over it. Reference Demi, Ashton and Bruce. Really. LOVE them!

Why I love Kimmora Lee Simmons

I will admit, it's not everyday I get to hang out on my couch watching tabloid TV. Yesterday was one of those days, and I got to watch another fabulous single mogel mama in action. Now I admit, she's completely over the top when it comes to how she treats the folks who work for her, but I love the philosophy that she can do it all.... in stilettos! Heeeellll ya sista! She's a working mother, the CEO of Baby Phat, and a truly devoted mother. The woman is a diva driven to succeed, but still is very present for her children. Yes, I realize she's got a staff, but my point is that you do not have to wither like an old leaf as a single mom... you CAN be fabulous!!!!
And speaking of fabulous, look at the always amazing Gwen Stefani with Kingston at her runway event:

LOVE HER!! I'm also very heartened to see Gwen with baby Zuma in a sling.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWKmNlltApMtABiG19JrW-WlDvCeG73AIcwT5EWjbipC6Qtrv8XMMsPYcUXnrHvrDfBmGoNGmFuJDraF1d6WwOmIk_OtiDSeCp7mFD2Idvtp7xRQrGS0HWisxPbmf5pTDVCrmrrZJ7Pzm/s1600-h/gwen-020509-d.jpg

Complicated?!

Hathor the Cowgoddess is absolutely my hero! For those of you unfamiliar with her work, here's a quick bio:
Hathor lives in the middle of urban sprawl with her dearest super-husband and three wee and wise kids. She has had an unassisted birth in the middle of her 700 square foot apartment, she breastfeeds on demand and in public, she shares sleep, maintains constant contact and unschools. Not only does she do all of this, she does it with grand style and verve. With extravagant and outrageous behavior. And with her trusty sidekick baby in a sling.

So, now let's add ATTACHMENT PARENT into the mix, and try and balance that with working! HA! yep, welcome to my life....this comic is near and dear to my heart!
http://www.thecowgoddess.com/category/comics/save-the-world/page/30/

Forbes.com for working mothers

So to dovetail off of my last post, I found this article on ABC News.com:
Finding the Best Jobs for Single Moms
Careers in Sales, Public Relations, Health and Real Estate Offer Valuable Flexibility
http://abcnews.go.com/Business/PersonalFinance/Story?id=4291788&page=1

When it comes to being a single mother, the two most important characteristics of a job are flexibility and salary. And while those elements are found on a company by company basis, there are certain industries that lend themselves to being more flexible than others.

The most flexible professions include sales, public relations, health care and real estate. As an added bonus, employees who work in those fields have the potential to make decent salaries. Education is also on the list. Although the hours are set, they're likely to be the same as their school-age children's.

Of course not all companies in those professions are ideal for single parents. That's why single moms must do their research to find out how family friendly their potential employer is. Among the characteristics they should look for (aside from the ability to control their own schedule) are flex time, job sharing and on-site child care.

One place to start is Working Mother magazine's annual list of 100 best companies for working mothers.
From there, moms shouldn't be shy during the interview process. There are ways to tactfully learn if their potential employer allows its staff to work from home and adjust their schedule according to their child care needs. Of course it can't be the first thing asked in a job interview. But it is reasonable during the second or third meeting to say things like: Tell me what it's like to work here; how do you find working here personally?; tell me about the opportunities to make use of here in terms of flexible environment.

Another way to learn about family friendliness is to ask if there are any affinity groups, says Jennifer Owens, an editor for Working Mother. Those are groups of employees that meet regularly on specific topics. For instance, many companies have working parent's affinity groups or parents of special needs children.

Much of this depends on where a single mother is in her career. For instance, Margy Sweeney's two daughters were 2 and 5 when she got divorced. Sweeney was age 29 and still wanted to explore different careers. She was a marketing manager at a real estate firm and wasn't convinced she wanted to do it forever. It became clear when her boss yelled at her for coming into the office at 9:15 a.m. after staying up until 4 a.m. to finish a presentation. It was particularly frustrating because she left the office at 5 p.m. the previous day to pick up her children from school. She continued to work on the presentation after they went to bed so she could meet her deadline.

"A single mother should look at a company and say, 'Do they appreciate the work I do outside of regular working hours?,' " says Sweeney, who, since then, worked as a freelance writer and is now happily settled in her job as a PR professional in Chicago. In other words, find out if they're results-oriented or if they simply want employees at their desks.

Some jobs, like nursing, require employees to be on-site. But there are lots of shift options so they can work while the kids are at school--or sleeping. The average national salary of a registered nurse is $49,534, according to CareerBuilder.com. Another well paying and flexible job in health care is physical therapy. They set their hours according to patient need, and there are many offices that allow them to work part-time. Their average national salary is $53,508.

Still, single parents need to prioritize their needs. Companies that provide the most flexibility don't necessarily offer the highest salaries. Think medical transcription. They listen to dictated recordings from doctors and transcribe them into medical reports. The upside is they can work from anywhere; the downside is they often make less than $30,000, according to data from CareerBuilder.com.

It's a balancing act--something single parents are very familiar with.

STRATEGERY!!!

Ok, so if you're a single working mother reading this, you don't need me to tell you that it's tricky trying to make it all come together. But no worries, I'm here to tell you that you absolutely can navigate the corporate waters, carry a diaper bag and wear stilletto's all at the same time if that's what you want! Rather than tell you what to do, however, I think my little nugget of strategery would be more along the lines of what not to do.
Let's get one thing straight. Once you have a baby, there will be a period of time where you lose your fucking mind. The problem is, there's no telling how long that lasts, and when it spills over into work after your maternity leave it is awesome, let me tell you. As you can see from the last post, I was still rather, uh, post-partem. First order of business: GO SEE YOUR DOCTOR. If I had gone to my doctor earlier it's possible of would have snapped out of my funk, which was affecting my work life. I was extremely irritable, plus really resentful of having to be the one to work, so it all added up to the rant below. NOT a good get-ahead strategy!
Once I had been back to work for a few years after giving birth, I learned that it's really important to talk to your boss about what you can do, and what your limitations are. This holds true if you're a single mom in a job or looking for a new job. Here's some advice that was passed along to me: make sure you give something in return for each "get". For instance, if you want flex time, or job sharing, make sure to emphasize times when you may be able to put in a little extra. I happen to be very lucky and have a terrific parenting partner in my ex husband, so we were able to create a parenting plan that would give me a chance to stay late at work or come in early a few days a week. So if I ever do need to miss a meeting, I've already created a great work ethic and it's not a problem.
Can you sense the difference in power here? I was angry and resentful and kind of felt like a victim, and it showed at work. Of course I wouldn't get any more responsibility! But once I learned to come armed with a plan, and present a solution that was thoughtful and delivered with confidence, it changed my manager's perception of me. I think the most important part of this lesson for me was to become empowered with a self-defined solution. Considering you never know when you're going to work with spit up on your shirt, or a binkie in your pocket, you might as well control some part of your destiny!