jeezy creezy

I realize that the worst thing that a blogger, er ranter, can do is to analyze her day on her blog, i mean soap box, but just go with it people.

Today, was probably the most trying day I've had in about a month. (Let's also note that I recently went through psychology comprehensive examinations for undergrad during that past month). So anyway, bad day...today at lunch, I was sitting with some friends who apparently I have mistaken as actual feminists. They are. men. I should have known--not that I'm a man-hater, I just should have known. There was a discussion about Hillary Clinton, who I plan to vote for next week in the Tennessee primaries. The non-feminist-feminists described Hillary as a bitch. Now, usually I would explain my interpretation of the word bitch, but not today, not when they were name-calling Hillary, no. ma'am. I attempted to explain the double standard that is put on women, especially women attempting to enter the public male realm of politics/presidency of the free world. I said, "the only reason you think Hillary is a bitch is because she has to maintain an element of aggression so that people don't think she's a pushover--because she's a woman and people expect feminity and that's not what she's conveying to the public." All the guys thought this was a stupid idea and that therefore, she is a bitch. Then I was given the silent treatment, you know. like in the third grade.

It happened again in Abnormal psychology seminar this afternoon. Book smart, professor-ass-kissing girl, who sits across from me, started talking about women with eating disorders and how they grow out of their problems when they grow up and have kids because the maternal instinct kicks in and it's more important. I thought my brain was going to shift out of my ears it was wiggling around in my skull so much. My legs twitched, my shoulders tightened, and my hands could not sit still. A friend of mine at the end of the table laughed at me and said, "...you look upset." I said, "I hate the phrase maternal instinct," holding back the disdain I have for the phrase. Someone said, "why?" To which I replied, "because it doesn't exist." That made book smart ass smoocher shut up. My professor smiled.

Then there was the McDonalds incident, when my car wouldn't start. I called my mom to tell her about what was going on and suggested that maybe I should go inside to see if anyone could help? Mom said, "You're a woman, you can't just go into some strange McDonalds to find some strange man to help you. That's not safe!" I hung up and called my best friend to discuss whether or not we thought my battery was dead.

And finally, tonight I flipped on the tele to watch some Law and Order, because it keeps my mind from rotting out of my head. There was an Applebee's commercial on. The narrator for the commerical was Wanda Sykes, who just happens to be one of my favorite comedians. You may know her from Over the Hedge, she was the voice of the skunk. She used to be Wanda Sykes Hall, but then she got divorced and became unpopular because a lot of her jokes made fun of men and stiff politicans and people with too much money. She was bitter, and the audience was irritated but me? I was on the floor laughing my guts into a sweat. Now, Wanda's been forced to do voiceovers about food at Applebee's. When will America wake up and realize that sometimes, hott black lady comedians who talk about real life issues, nay...make fun of intimate details of her life, nay...make fun of men, is funny?

And some comedians, want to dress like women (click on the title of the post). And some people respect women and don't call them bitches in the bad sort of way. And some women are strong. And some women, well some women don't have maternal instincts. And some women, they rant about all the anti-feminist happenings of the day.

ladybugs, peas and vaginas

Today I woke up with a ladybug looking me in the face from the other side of my pillow which means spring is on the way. You see, in Sewanee we don't rely on groundhogs to tell us whether or not they see a shadow to alert us of the coming of spring, we rely on the arrival of the ladybugs.

There's this war monument at the end of Tennesee Ave, the road on which I live. It's a hugemongous cross on top of what looks like a keystone, and it's surrounded by a black-fence-gate-thing. Each side of the keystone part of the monument is a memorial to one of four US wars; WWI, WWII, Korean War and Vietnam War. The cross juts up into the air about fifty feet overlooking the Winchester side of the mountain bluff. It is white in color, and at night there are flood lights that illuminate the monument so that when you're driving up the mountain from Winchester, you can see the monument. I have to admit, it's kind of eery. My point in describing this huge phallic piece of concrete is to say that when the ladybugs arrive, that is where they habitate. About 5000 of those buggers chill together there on the surface of the Christian war-penis until May when it gets really hot and they get the hell out of town.

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Tonight, my ankle was really swollen so I got my trusty bag of peas from the freezer. They had become this huge rock-lump pea thing, kind of like when you boil spaghetti noodles but forget to stir--the result is a great big lump of what you had hoped would be individually separated enjoyable noodles.

Anyway, I took them into the bathroom to throw them down on the tile floor and guess what? The bag broke and the peas, they went everywhere. People in the hallway were like why are there peas everywhere? I ducked out of that place as fast as possible. I should probably go clean them up because I have a feeling that frozen peas on a bathroom floor are kind of like grapes on the floor of the supermarket. Did you know that grapes are the leading cause of supermarket accidents and comprise the majority of supermarket lawsuit actions?

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I recently agreed to read a monologue from the perspective of an angry vagina (click on the title of the post) in an upcoming university sponsored production of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues. Favorite line in reference to gyno examinations:

...all up in there like Nancy Drew with a flashlight working against gravity...

I have been reading the monologue non-stop since the script arrived in my university PO box. People on my hall are tiring of my perpetual need to act and speak as if I am a vagina. My response: Vaginas have feelings too!

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Also, a bunch of firetrucks just showed up at the house across the street. They're shining lights on the roof. I bet Nancy Drew is over there looking for a vagina! I'm gonna go check it out.