Yeah, I’ve got another for you tonight. Sorry about the double duty, but it’s been a busy evening. You see I made the mistake of reading Slate--that always prompts some interesting thoughts. I made a real mistake in reading pieces by this guy, http://www.slate.com/?id=3944&cp=2100253 William Saleten. He’s conservative and he’s vocal and he writes on Human Nature.

I’m not irritated by him because he disagrees with me specifically--a lot of people disagree with me, some of you no doubt. I’m not even irritated because he chooses to voice his opinions; I feel it is extremely important that a dialogue exists between opposing views. He’s thoughtful and reasonably well educated in his writing so unlike Ann Coulter I think he does intend to help the world with what he does. I can respect that.

My problem, what I specifically take issue with, is that he demands people live up to his standards and lead their lives accordingly. My issue might seem strange because at first glance one might make the same argument against me. Obviously I am outspoken in my beliefs and obviously I think I am right. However, what I demand of the world isn’t that they agree with me, but that they don’t discriminate against me. It’s an extremely important distinction and if I haven’t made it clear I will have to go back and revise. True freedom is allowing all thoughts, no matter how appealing or unappealing, equally.

But there is a very large difference between allowing all thoughts without tolerating discrimination, and calling for a change in lifestyles you don’t think are correct. It is true that if people stopped smoking, lost weight, and stopped doing drugs the health concerns associated with those issues would go down (or outright disappear). It is also true that second hand smoke is unhealthy, your friends being fat can influence your own outlook on weight, and hanging out in a drug culture makes it more likely you will do drugs. I respect anyone’s right to remove second hand smoke from their lives, patron only establishments that don’t allow smoking, refuse to pass within twenty feet of smokers and so on. I also acknowledge anyone’s right to remove those influences from their lives that they find unhealthy such as fat people. But while you are allowed to pursue your life as you see fit, you are not, or shouldn’t be, allowed to dictate someone else’s. This is, of course, within reason. What is reason? Reason is the situation where unwanted harm to another human being is dealt. Specifically, murder, assault, rape, robbery, etc.

For this reason every restaurant/bar/pub has the right to ban smoking. But if an establishment clearly posts signs that it is smoking, then anyone entering said establishment is engaging in willful harm to his or her body when he or she enters. If people wish to make that choice, I feel they should be allowed. It is, perhaps, unwise, but unwise does not equate with unethical. Every person has the right to shop only at health food stores, exercise daily and remove from his or her life any friend that encourages him or her to abandon healthy pursuits. But if someone wishes to be lazy, weak, or fat, while unwise, again I don’t see it as unethical.

The reason that I take such a stand on these issues is that telling a person what s/he can and cannot do with his or her body is an amount of control I refuse to relinquish to a government. I refuse, actually, to relinquish it to anyone. I would accept advice, I would even accept intervention were my life at risk from a friend or loved one. But society urges these changes for an economic reason. Fewer dollars wasted. Yes, that is an admirable goal, but when did my body, my life, me, become a money making investment of my economy? That I agree to live by society’s laws is true, but laws are supposed to be ethical--do we want a society based on the ethics of consumerism?

Saleten makes smoking and obesity a moral issue. For him, hurting one’s body may very well be immoral. Certainly to hurt someone else’s body when s/he is unwilling is unethical, sometimes even when s/he is. But my choice to smoke in establishments that choose to allow it, doesn’t force second hand smoke on someone unwilling. And the morality of health, the only basis for forcing that on someone else, other than religious which should have no place in a debate concerning society as a whole, would be economic. And again, I’m not willing to equate how much money I can make/spend/contribute to society with morality.

It is all connected. Racism, classism, sexism--all the -isms. The same arguments were used to justify slavery, the subjugation of women and homosexuality. We have science to back it up now, scientific studies. They had science then. Our science is better--their’s was the best they had at the time. We are constantly reevaluating our surveys and studies and that is excellent. We are constantly looking for ways to improve our society and that is excellent. But here’s the rub: utopia is easy to achieve if you just force, or dupe, everyone into acting how you want them to. People must make the decision to be the best person they can be on their own. And discriminating against them in the meantime, again--when they are not inflicting unwilling harm on another--is no answer.

Business is business, but my life, me, I am not business. And there is a difference between demanding all follow your morality, and seeking out an ethical existence based on allowing freedom without stigma that provides the safest and most supportive community it can. With your family you can demand the former, but from your government you should always, always, demand the latter. Even if you agree with them now, there’s no guarantee you always will. And if you give up the civil right to live as you choose because you agree, there will be no one to fight for you, or with you, when you disagree.

So I just saw D-Wars: Dragon Wars. Oh, yes, I did. The effects were awesome, the violence gratuitous, and the main characters were appropriately good looking. The movie, however, was so bad. And when I say so bad, what I mean to say is that I laughed out loud any time somebody talked instead of stuff just blowing up.

I would like to start my explanation by pointing out that you loving me for all eternity it’s sweet, but it doesn’t do either one of us any good if you’re dead. I mean, sure eternity is a long time and I’m assuming that after I die we’ll have awhile to hang out, but do we get bodies in the spiritual afterlife? Is sex as much fun in the ether as it is in the flesh? Are there babies and fights and make-up sex, and more babies and more fights? I’m not trying to diminish eternal love by making it all about sex, but if I spend a lifetime being lonely cause you went and died, there better be some spiffy bonuses to eternal love. Significantly spiffy.

That being said I would really like to say that Movies.com gave this movie a B stating that it is a fun, cheesey old-fashioned monster flick. Here’s the thing though, Godzilla always had a bullet proof plot. Oh, yes he did. It wasn’t fancy, and it wasn’t good, but it was solid. Godzilla 1984: big monster created by man’s nuclear experiments shows up to stomp on people and cause general havoc. There isn’t some fate here that predetermines things--there’s no destiny. What there is, is a monster that stomps on stuff. If you accept that monsters can exist than the rest falls into place. King Kong, giant gorilla from Monster Island (or is it Skull Island?) brought to New York. If you accept that said Island exists than the rest falls into place. Ghidra the Three-Headed Monster--this one’s a little more tricky. Monster Island features again with Ghidra hailing from Mars. The problem with this movie is mostly that Mothra, the young larval Mothra, is supposedly king of the monsters and Godzilla needs his help. Yeah, I don’t buy that part either, Godzilla rules in any given situation. Ghidra still reigns as one of my favorites, however.
Dragon Wars, though, tries to lay a plot, a plausible scenario for said snake-monsters to be destroying Los Angeles. Their attempts, though, are half-hearted and so full of holes you could drain your pasta with it. It’s a Korean legend? Fine, go with it. Own it. Don’t make it too complicated, don’t throw characters in without purpose. Don’t try and tug at the heartstrings. Just blow shit up and call it a day. That’s really what I’m asking for here. Godzilla could be extremely moving (I’m so not joking, check out the aforementioned Godzilla 1984) but his power came in part from his simplicity. He was a thing of nature in opposition to man’s rule. That’s a tried and true literary trope. The Japanese--they know how to do these things.
But Hollywood gets a hold of a Korean legend and all of a sudden Jason Behr is running around, fully clothed and nothing makes sense. If you put Jason Behr in jeans and a ripped shirt…now we’re talking. But he doesn’t even fight--in fact the humans don’t see much action at all except when they are getting eaten.

So, while I have affection for the attempt at another monster movie, I’m saddened by Hollywood’s urge to make it a videogame before it’s even viewed. I don’t want to pay movie prices to watch a story that’s better seen in bits and pieces as I play through the game. I want to see a movie. With a story. And a plot.

And I want to see a lot of stuff blow up. And big monsters. And hot sweaty men being all heroic like.

What you would have then is the best movie ever.

I learned about Anal Bleaching today. Yes, you heard me right. Go Here:

http://www.marieclaire.com/life/sex/advice/anal-bleaching

She says it better than I ever could. Pay special attention to the hymenoplasty. I don't even have the words to express how disturbed I am by this.

Sometimes it is nearly impossible to navigate the wave of my righteous anger. Sometimes when my students tell me that a feminist just “needs to get laid” and that a woman shouldn’t have equal pay because her husband will be working and that it’s fair because women are more often sick than men and have the bad manners to demand maternity leave it is nearly impossible for me to maintain my composure and my professional demeanor. Sometimes it is all I can do to not be angry. Fortunately, I don’t have to bite back my anger right now.

People, women and men alike, get so sick about listening to how the world isn’t fair, how civil rights haven’t been achieved, to how minorities and women are at a disadvantage in the world. People wish that feminists would just shut up and have the good manners to shave their pits, legs, and vagina. To those people I say my cunt is my own and until it ceases to scare you I will continue to talk about it.

Everything that is uniquely feminine is either not discussed in mixed-company, menstruation, or twisted to become a thing of pleasure waiting to be experienced by a man, the hymen. What does the loss of my virginity have to do with anyone but me? How can I ever give my body to another person? I can share it, let them touch it; I can even suffer its violation, but it’s still mine. You give someone a sweater, or a gift card. You don’t give them your body.

People don’t understand what the big deal is. People don’t understand why it matters to call a woman a whore, or a slut. Our reality is defined by our language and our language is full of heterglot--varied meaning. A whore is a woman that takes money for sex and a slut is a woman that is non-discriminating in her sexual partners. But both whores and sluts are the lowest tier of women; they are the women that no one has use for, the women with nothing left to give to anyone else. They are untrustworthy, incapable of love or tenderness, impure. How can sexuality relate to all of those things? How can the activities of my vagina define my moral character? My fists break noses. My feet might break ribs. My fingers can strangle. All of those body parts possess the power for pain, for hurt. My vagina does nothing more than reside between my legs. At best it allows for pleasure, my own and someone else’s. At worst it hurts me.

My sexual choices might be indicative of my immorality, but isn’t the true signifier not the sex itself but my blatant disregard for commitments made to someone else? My lack of ability to consider how my actions might hurt another? Isn’t prostitution more a sign of lack of ownership over one’s body? I don’t need this, why don’t you use it for awhile. But while the sex could be a sign it is not the cause. Minorities make up the vast population of criminals in this country, but we all recognize that it isn’t being a minority that causes it. You aren’t more likely to be evil because you are something other than white. But because minorities make up the vast majority of those living below the poverty line, crime becomes a staple of many communities. The two exist in the same sphere because circumstance has forced them there, not because one inevitably leads to the other.

So it is with women and sex. Women have been powerless throughout the ages; hated for what they are and lusted after for what they are. In a world of survival any weapon becomes one that is acceptable. Our bodies are our greatest asset, even while they are our greatest weakness. A beautiful woman can earn money, attention, even adoration. She also earns jealousy, judgment, and condemnation. But her beauty or her sexual behavior does not make her untrustworthy or incapable of love. Fighting for prestige, power, and acceptance do that. Having to sacrifice her vagina on the alter of hope--hope of money, hope of love, hope of power--does that.

So no. I’m not as much fun as I used to be. I’m louder and angrier than I once was and much less willing to bend. I do this because I am not defined by my vagina. It is simply one more part of me. And I will not be held hostage by a world that uses language without realizing the power in it. I will not sit idly by and watch centuries of misogyny and appropriation of women’s bodies continue through the thoughtless use of words like whore and slut. I do this because, while I might not like every woman I meet, I will not judge her because she is a woman. I will not judge her for how she chooses to use her body. I will judge her on her treatment of others. I will judge her on her dedication to not hurting her fellow human beings. I will judge her on her decency. Just like I judge men.

The world needs comedy to make its tragedies bearable. Many laugh at retards and midgets because we are all so grateful not to be one. Their existence is different from the norm. But most everyone knows better than to take advantage of them because they were born with a disadvantage, lower intelligence or smaller size. You say calling someone a whore is funny. I say what’s the greater tragedy, being born different, or being forced into it?

Oh, I have some exciting news to share today everyone. Exciting, amazing, stupendous! I am now the proud owner of a Supergirl dvd. That’s right, Supergirl. Not Superman, but the little known, oft forgotten classic offshoot from the 80’s. It’s amazing. Helen Slater, Faye Dunaway--I can barely type for my excitement.

There I was at the grocery store, the place I didn’t want to go and had put off all day and I saw cheap movies. I thought hey, I’ll take a look. You never know. And there it was. A light shone down from the heavens and an unearthly choir sang in my ear (curtsey of my mp3 player) and I picked up the last copy. Oh yes, the only one they had. As if the universe created it for me right there, out of dust and clay so that I might take it home and enjoy it to my heart’s content.
I can tell you’re happy for me; I can feel your excitement from here. It’s okay, just let it out. We all know that Supergirl is a sacred experience only to be embarked upon by the most dedicated. It’s not easy to watch such momentous acting, and sit through such a powerful script. I mean, sometimes I find myself sitting there wondering why did I do this? How could I forget what this movie was like?

But on special nights when the moon is full and the wolves howl in the distance I know it’s time. It’s time for me to go to the kitchen and pop some popcorn. Melt butter to make it extra tastey. Get out a diet coke and assume the position on the couch. And then, as the stars align and Jupiter enters the house of Mercury I know I must press play or forever hold my peace. And now I can press play. I can press it every time.

Can you hear it on the wind? Listen closely…super girl…

Some days I love my life more than I thought possible. Bless all that is holy for bad 80’s movie. Without them the world would be a duller place indeed.

I am in shock and amazement. I just read a trashy romance novel…and they didn’t live happily ever after. It was a little bit The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. An old movie, Mrs. Muir, a widow, moves into a house haunted by its former denizen, the Ghost. Widow and Ghost fall in love, but he’s dead and she’s not so it ends up that she lives her life and finally, after death, her ghost and his walks off into the other world. This book I just finished revolved around a mortal woman who falls in love with Hades, a.k.a. the Devil. He ends up sacrificing for her his ability to visit the mortal plane so she gets to live her life, have his baby, and so on. It is assumed that when she dies they will be reunited, but you don’t even ever see that. Instead your left with him in the Underworld toasting his vision of her and her happiness. I ruin the ending because I don’t think any of you will ever read it.

I feel cheated that this book was sold in the romance section. Yes it’s a romance, they fall in love, but the happily-ever-after part is definitely up for debate. And I suppose eternity is okay after you die, but, hey call me selfish here, I’m not so much interested in living my life alone, a single mother, waiting for the end of my life to be reunited with my lover who is also the God of the Underworld.

I suppose the crux of my irritation is that all sorts of love stories happen all the time. People fall in love and someone dies early. People fall in love and fall out of love twenty years later. People live long, lonely, lives and fall in love at the end. I like those stories; I enjoy reading/watching those stories. But when I pick up a romance novel I have very specific expectations I want filled. Not necessarily the formula to exactness, but certainly the part where they fall in love and LIVE together.

There’s beauty in tragedy, in learning to move on. The human spirit is amazing in its capacity to grow and heal--to love again. But I read romance because I like to make believe sometimes that not everybody has it so very hard, so much of the time. I like to believe that for some people they have a partner to share the burden with. Someone to help with the mundane task of living; someone to be there when the baby is born. Someone to change diapers and get up in the middle of the night and take out the garbage and sit through recitals with.

I have nothing but admiration for someone who can do it on her own. That’s a virtue that is lacking in too many people. It’s a beautiful amazing thing to be happy despite all life throws at you. But when I read a romance story it’s to escape life, escape reality. It’s because I’m tired of real life and real problems and want to believe that for some people the good always outweighs the bad. That’s why it’s escapist.

And the worst part of it all, the part that really makes this unpalatable, is that the story wasn’t all that good. Like all writers who rely on wrenching moments of heartrending agony to make up for the lackluster prose throughout the rest of the story, this book just wasn’t that good. Her hero was left undeveloped, her heroine only marginally less so. Their relationship seems to happen overnight with no explanation of how or why. When tragedy strikes her heroine suddenly feels more than ever even hinted at before. There is a closeness of family that was decidedly lacking earlier on. And the hero’s “sacrifice” comes out of nowhere with no seeming reason. His character doesn’t so much arc as just completely change.

So now I’m left completely unsatisfied and slightly depressed. At least with The Time-Traveler’s Wife you felt like you were reading a profound statement on love and its ability to endure. It was painful, but worthwhile. With this it is simply, bad. Tragedy is an art, but I feel it takes just as much skill, perhaps more so at times, to write a story that is meaningful, moving, and happy. To make characters appear dynamic and full of life, with all of life’s hardships and baggage, and also make it believable that they have found happiness in each other--that’s impressive. As impressive as watching it happen in reality.

Anyone can write a crappy story with a bittersweet ending. But in the best bittersweet endings I think the bitter is the pain of the journey to find the sweet. And the sweet makes it all worthwhile. It shouldn’t just be heart wrenching sadness with the consolation prize of a baby. Kids are fantastic but they don’t hold you every night, or fight with you, or comfort you, or support you. And honestly, I’m tired of authors trying to convince me that children can make one parent stop missing the other. While kids are beautiful, I think there are many single parents who can hold their loneliness up as proof that they aren’t everything.

Stupid, bad, trashy romance novel.

I don’t really have any deeper meaning for tonight. Instead I am simply procrastinating the grading of my papers. I’ve graded some (I’m not completely hopeless) but as I stare at these last fifteen I’m just not sure I have anything else in me.

Well, I know I don’t have anything in me. That could be the problem.

Moving on--I thought I would regale you with my latest trashy romance disaster. I picked up a novel the other night (last night, in fact) where the hero, according the back of the novel, was Hades. I thought this sounded interesting. We all know my penchant for bad boys--I did like Satan more than God when reading Paradise Lost--and so this seemed right up my alley. But the hero isn’t just Hades, he’s the God of the Underworld, sometimes known as Hades, sometimes known as Satan, all around misunderstood immortal being. Unexpected, but I was prepared to roll with it. After all, he was still bad, still wounded, and still misunderstood. It’s the trifecta of my heart.

But the author got around the problems of dialogue by simply…not including it. At least not much of it. There would be one line or two and then “we talked the rest of the way.” That doesn’t work for me. There’s no bonding there that I’m a part of; there’s no heated moments that make me yearn for an encounter of similar passion. There is nothing, in fact, but dry, emotionless text. If I wanted that I would read some of the bestsellers in the Classics section.
So to add to my list of not hot things in romance books I present you with number 11: a report of dialogue without the presentation of dialogue. The point of a romance is to live vicariously through the characters, not spend my time with a book only to come away with “Hey, these two people I heard about fell in love. Cool.”

Thankfully I did buy 300 the other day at Best Buy so I happen to have itty bitty teeny weeney little tiny leather panties just waiting for the moment to console me. I figure I can just shut it off before they all die. It gives me a happy ending in Moulin Rouge, it can give me a happy ending in 300. See I know how to make myself happy--now if all the romance novelists in the world would take a cue and follow my list. Nothing would be better than that.

Maybe a hot cabana boy…or everlasting love with a wounded, misunderstood bad boy for all eternity. A rich bad boy. Who was hot and well-endowed. It’s my fantasy. I’m wishing as I type this and I see no reason not to cover all the bases.

Fine…I’ll go grade.

For anyone interested in checking out the story of someone fighting the good fight for civil rights go to www . michaelrighi . com. He was unlawfully arrested in a Circuit City parking lot. And yes he was being a pain, but do we want to live in a world where being difficult gets you arrested? Especially when you aren't breaking the law? Bravo.

I don’t know why I do this to myself, or to you for that matter, but here I go again. Apparently, on my own. What I’m about to say was prompted in part by the comment of a classmate and made worse by msn.com. At the end of class yesterday I was starving. It was 6:30, I hadn’t eaten since 12:00 and chowing down on someone’s arm was seeming like a good idea. After proclaiming my starving self to be getting food two other girls readily agreed with me that they too were starving. But one said “especially since I haven’t eaten anything today.” I, foolishly, asked, “you haven’t eaten anything?” “No,” she replied, “so that I could have a full sized dinner instead of an orange.” Oh, of course, what was I thinking? Naturally if you eat breakfast and lunch you can’t eat a full dinner! She had recently put on 5 lbs even though her eating habits hadn’t changed.

That is a brilliant reason to starve oneself. Great argument, obviously you’re correct.

And on msn you can click on a map of the United States where it tells you the percentage of people in your state that are obese. Then you can find out if your state is obese and what you can do about it. That’s right people, fat asses are a national epidemic and we all need to step up and do our part to take those fat people down a size. Who’s with me?!

I know I’ve been on the fat bus lots of time and told you all very loudly how I feel about this. But I’m probably going to keep going until the American people stop being stupid so you might as well get used to it. Once again, I do not think being obese is a good idea. I do not think fat people are physically more attractive than fit people. I do not relish the idea of not being able to fit in a normal sized chair. But if someone has a fat ass that is her, and only her, concern. If someone wears muumuus because nothing else fits--too bad for them. This is not a national crisis. And their health problems, never mind how much heart trouble is due to dieting over the years, might cost insurance companies more money. Aren’t insurance companies supposed to pay for medical bills? Isn’t that why you pay them a premium? It’s fantastic when you never have to use it because you’re always healthy, but I’m not feeling real sorry for the insurance companies--the same companies that price gouge and discriminate--have to dole out some change.

I do not feel our society should have the right to declare citizens’ worth based on how much they contribute. I am not a fucking cog in the fucking machine. Forgive my language but I feel extremely strong about this. If I am a tax-paying member of society I don’t owe anyone anything except to abide by society’s agreement, laws. The idea that my ass can adversely affect my neighbor is…horrendous! What? Like an unsightly bush it will bring down their property value? It will ruin their view? It will ruin their air (with my ass that might be true)? And if you pass a law based on my “health” what does that mean? Need I remind everyone that the basis for much of racism came from minorities lack of ability to be as smart, to feel as much, to be as productive to society.

So we know that fat people get more sick more often. Well then, obviously it should be illegal to be fat. You’re not as good of a worker as someone else; you will suck up more of society’s resources. It seems the obvious solution. Now, how to enforce it? We’ll control what food is available to the public! Okay, we’ve already started that--no trans fat in restaurants and no smoking inside in many states and cities. We’ll have mandatory weigh-ins. Some schools are sending home a “fitness” report card. We’ll penalize you for breaking the law. Deny you insurance benefits or charge you more, punish you in the work place, refuse to allow you in certain places. Yup, those things are going on too. But strangely, the obesity rates keep going up. Well, we just need crack down. Make it more dramatic. I know, monitor what food you buy at the supermarket--if you’re overweight you don’t need that ice cream. Here’s some broccoli. Make sure fast food restaurants don’t sell unhealthy choices--nobody really wants to eat a big mac, right? We’ll institute programs in school to make sure kids know what not to do. DARE has worked wonders with drugs so we’ll just include a chapter on fat people too. These are all really good ideas.

Or, here’s an idea I’m just throwing out there, we can just accept that nobody owes anyone, anything. If their fatness is unsightly, or unwieldy for the rest of us we can choose not to look. We could choose to just, I don’t know, be accepting? But that might be too much to ask for just yet. We could accept that it is not everybody’s job to be sexually appealing all the time and that if I don’t want to sleep with someone, that doesn’t mean there is something wrong with them. It does mean that I don’t want to sleep with them. Huh. We could accept that if someone doesn’t want to sleep with us, it doesn’t mean we have morally failed. Brilliant! That it isn’t my job to attract every guy that walks by, just in case Mr. Right happens to be among them.
You can tell me this about health. You can tell me this is about society and what’s best for our country. I will tell you that you’re full of shit, or just don’t have any idea how the world works. It’s about money and control. Insurance companies can’t deny coverage to obese people until everyone else is sufficiently against them enough to allow it. The citizens of this country are less likely to pay attention to a President that lies and a war on false premises, if their too busy worrying about their asses and their neighbors asses. If we all hate each other all the time, we can’t band together.

The best way to control people is sex and fear. We may crouch our terminology in things like “health” and “feeling better” but we mean, what everyone still means is “skinny” and “sexually appealing.” You might disagree with me, but first figure out why you are petrified of being fat and then present your argument. And you can’t say because you won’t be able to do anything--I can do lots of things. I can hike. I can swim. I can fit in airplane seats. I can ride my bike. I’m not in great shape, but neither am I bedridden. So why are you petrified to look like me? What is so scary about it? Being unappealing? Not being whistled at when you walk down the street? Having to shop in fat lady stores? No? What then?

Everyone has health concerns. Cholesterol, cancer, diabetes, whatever--you name it. Those don’t go away because you’re thin. Being healthy is more than losing weight and it certainly isn’t losing weight fast. It doesn’t happen through a pill and it doesn’t not happen because you aren’t on the weight chart. It’s something between a person and her doctor and has nothing to do with society or anyone else.

But we owe it to each other right? I need to watch out for your obesity and your smoking because maybe it’s contagious. Oh, wait, that’s gayness. Huh, there’s just so much to hate I don’t know where to start.

It’s taken me a minute to settle on what I want to write about tonight but I feel I finally have it. Tonight we discuss women’s fashions.

I spent my weekend on the strip and I saw all number of fashion choices there--clothes that covered, clothes that didn’t and everything in between. But what I really noticed was the proclivity of baby-doll dresses. There is also an abundance of baby-doll tops in department stores. My point is this: what is so appealing about a fashion choice made to simulate both a baby, and a doll?

Along with the push to turn women more into men, there is a simultaneous push to turn women into a prepubescent form of themselves. A baby-doll dress lends itself to a hint of innocence while showing a sufficient amount of skin to declare the wearer fully mature. If you’re lucky enough your date will shave all her pubic hair and then she can look like she’s twelve both clothed and naked. I don’t understand. The shaving, sure--I get that pubic hair can be a bitch. Certainly it’s never been my most favorite thing to get at things through hair, but that’s part of the body. People grow up; people get hair. Seems to me that when you already have someone’s bodily fluids in your mouth getting picky over a few hairs is a mute point. But. maybe I’m just not that picky.

But why is the baby-doll dress a choice that men approve? Are women everywhere wrong? Is it something men don’t even notice? Why do women find it such a good decision? When I get up in the morning and get dressed, or change my clothes for a night on the town it does not go through my mind--I want to look like a naughty little girl. In fact, if my boyfriend were to ask me to look like a naughty little girl I might kick him out of my bed and out my life. A schoolgirl fantasy that revolves around the high school days of yore is one thing, wanting me to look as young and nubile as possible is entirely different.

I’ve never pulled off innocent particularly well. I’ve certainly never put out the vibe that I needed some strong man to help me, even when I did. But I’m not sorry about that. In fact, I’m not sorry about anything that has led me to be as I am today. I refuse to feel guilty over the attractiveness or lack thereof, of my vagina. It’s clean--seems to me like that’s all I need to worry about. I refuse to dress myself in such a way that I seem pure, innocent, but still sexual. I’m just me and sometimes that’s freaky, and sometimes it’s not.

I have my preferences in what I look for in men--while I would go out with anyone once there are some guys I just won’t ever be attracted to. That’s okay. There are guys that won’t ever be attracted to me. That’s okay too. But I know why I find the things attractive that I do. And I certainly am aware of some of my darker fantasies and why it is important that they never see the light of day. Everybody’s got some freaky stuff inside, but some of it is not okay to foist on another person.

Wearing a baby doll-dress, or dressing your vagina to a partner’s standards seem like small things. But why is it truly being asked? Why is a woman actually engaging in it? Does your partner like the look of you as young and innocent? Doesn’t that seem a little wrong--I think so. Does he refuse to give oral sex if you aren’t completely clean shaven because he just doesn’t like the hair? Even if you demand the same of him I wouldn’t call that healthy. The body is the body and to demand that someone change theirs…that’s not love in my opinion, or even good manners.

I don’t offer any drama and I don’t play games. That’s awfully boring to some people. I keep my body to my own standards and will not turn its management over to anyone else. That’s off-putting to some men. But at this point in my life, if you’re going to sleep with me you’re going to have to care about me, and you don’t get to pick and choose what you care about and what you don’t. You don’t get to say I like you a lot, but only these parts. It’s all or nothing, and I’m way too old to filter for someone’s comfort in a relationship setting.

There’s a really good chance I’m never getting laid again, but I’ll be damned if I sacrifice myself on the alter of show-me-I’m-worth-something one more time. And I will not be someone’s little girl fantasy. If you don’t like all the things that make a woman a woman…maybe you should look into that.