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September, 2014
Archive

  • Lady Farts

    As a lady, one thing I am not supposed to talk about is farts. I am not sure why they are so taboo for a lady to do. Maybe because one has to picture a lady sphincter opening up to release a noxious, feces scented, vapor. This is hard for the human mind to conceive, because one also does not enjoy envisioning a lady depositing waste from her anus. As far as civilization is concerned, things should only be going in a woman’s derrière, not out.

    Let me take a moment to apologize for the female gender, and admit that despite how tight we might clench, eventually substances of a variety of forms may exit our rumps. We will go through great lengths to do such things in private, so as not to violate the lady code, but there may be a moment of weakness when the gluteus Maximus is not quite strong enough to withstand the impending pressure of biology. It is never our intention to assault one’s perception of ladyness with the disgrace of our physical ecosystem, yet I hope that you, my gracious reader, can excuse the inevitable need to momentarily prioritize anatomy over convention.

    Even I, your humble servant, am committed to proper ladylike conduct and rarely expose an audience to my fumes. If such an event were to occur, I would of course blame it on my canine Mona to maintain integrity. I also make sure to eat a steady organic diet that does not vary in texture or flavor to ensure such a ghastly event would rarely take place. A lady of course considers the consequences of her digestion before the indulgence of ingestion.

    Yet over the weekend I was frequenting a variety of engagements that impacted my normal régime. The consequences of my actions were dire, and that evening while I was putting my sweet child to bed, I had what one might quantify as “the farts.” I was trying to be discreet, but The Munch was sitting on my lap, and I felt one coming on.

    Toni: Munch, go do potty so we can brush your teeth and go to bed.
    Munch: But I don’t want to do potty… I want you to tickle me first.
    Toni: First potty, then I will tickle you… Go now Munch – I mean it.

    The Munch started sliding off my lap, yet not at a speed fast enough to compete with the processing of my intestines. Her slither off my legs was not only ill timed, but also ill placed – and I ended up farting on her head.

    Munch: Ew. What is that smell? It smells like Mona farted, but she is downstairs.
    Toni: I farted.
    Munch: MOM! WHY DID YOU DO THAT! I CAN’T DO POTTY IN HERE OR BRUSH MY TEETH. I AM GOING TO THE BATHROOM DOWNSTAIRS.

    Although it was of course upsetting to have violated The Munch’s perception of her culturally appropriate mother, I also did become aware of the great power of my gas. After we did our night time routine of story and back tickling, it was time for me to leave and go downstairs to do what adults do in the late evening hours… sit on their computers.

    Toni: Alright Munch, sleep well. I am going downstairs.
    Munch: No! Keep cuddling… just stay and cuddle for five more minutes.
    Toni: Five minutes, and then bedtime.
    Munch: Okay… I promise.

    Five minutes later…

    Toni: That’s five minutes. I love you. Sleep well.
    Munch: No Mamma, please stay for a little longer and keep cuddling.
    Toni: Munch I have to go or else I am going to fart in your bed.
    Munch: Okay goodnight Mamma. See you in the morning.

    lady-fart-blog-(i)

  • Why Is “Mom” the Answer to Everything?

    Even though I love the shit out of my kid, being “the mom” can sometimes seriously suck. Whenever The Munch is sick, all she wants is me – her mom. No one else will do. Not even if My Little Pony had an orgy with Frozen, Cinderella, and The Little Mermaid to produce the ultimate neon princess pony with magical powers and tail.

    I think we all have this visceral connection to the idea that “mom” emotionally translates to safety. When I was young and sick, it was my mom who I felt I could trust most to know what to do. Which was pretty much the right idea since her cure to all ailments was to mix together a drink of lemon, honey, warm water, and whisky. Not sure if those concoctions actually helped me heal, but they did facilitate a damn good time.

    When we are at our most vulnerable, especially when young, one true relief is being with mom. But what is it about “the mom” that is most soothing? Is it because we once lived inside her as an actual physical home while feeding from her blood like a parasite? Does the inadvertent nurturing dependency of pregnancy impact an assumption that mom = support? But what about adopted children? I am sure they still want to snuggle with their mom even if they didn’t spurt out her birth canyon. Is it a female thing that bitches are inherently more comforting and shit? But what about children of gay couples? Which mom is the sick mom? Or which dad becomes the sick dad? Is one person always burdened with being the sick parent? Why did it have to be me?

    The Munch came home from school yesterday with a fever, and has literally been on top of me ever since. I mean I know I am delightful and all, but this primal urge for her to be near me is intense. She slept on me all afternoon – pinning me down so I felt like a guy after a one-night stand that wants to chew his own arm off just to free himself from the embrace of a girl he is just not that into. If I tried to maneuver myself away, Munch just held on tighter around me neck – IN HER SLEEP LIKE A BOSS!

    Then of course last night she didn’t want to sleep by herself. She kept waking up with these intense hallucinations like she was at a Grateful Dead Show – her heart beating as fast as tripping hippy. So I brought her into my bed hoping we could both get some rest. My logic was that if she was alone and scared she would wake up more than if she was next to me. I also wanted to keep an eye on her in case things got really bad throughout the night. What I wasn’t prepared for was the fever induced nightmares that would ensue. It was like trying to sleep in an insane asylum. Every 20 minutes she would yell in her sleep. Some of my favorite utterings she bellowed into the darkness were “Don’t peel my skin off! I want to eat it later,” as well as “Those bushes are evil and the sugar will destroy you,” and then “I don’t want to go to school, the monsters keep taking our blankets and using them for polenta.” I was fucking terrified.

    At one point Munch woke up for some water, which she proceeded to drink too fast, and then vomited all over my bed. As exciting as that was to have this exorcist moment, it was also pretty gross to sleep in bile. So we went back into her room, where I slept on the floor in case she puked again. Then came the deliriums, which caused not only intense thrashing, but for Munch to wake up yelling in my face blowing barf-breath directly into my nose – all the while still sort of sleeping and sweating like a coke head in the early morning hours.

    Today wasn’t any better. A kid with a fever is a lot like being around a detoxing junkie. There is a lot of crying, flailing, fitful napping, and relentlessly asking for more medicine. There wasn’t any liberation from her unyielding need for me to hold her through this process, which was as flattering as it was oppressive. It is nice that she feels so consoled by me, but I haven’t seen the light of day in 24 hours. Has WW3 started yet? What is going on out there?

    Hopefully despite all this direct contact I won’t catch whatever she had, but if I do get her germs Munch promised we would take care of each other. Meaning I would still do everything for her, but she would let me have some of her orange juice and some of her medicine that takes like candy.

    I give up…

    sick-munch-mom-blog-(i)

    September 24, 2014 • 4 years old, Health, Mommyhood, Parenting • Views: 1686

  • Is It Bad That I Didn’t Miss You?

    There are a lot of things that we are supposed to say in order not to seem like total sociopaths. I am supposed to say things like “I love my parents,” or, “I would die for the people in my family,” or “excuse me” if I fart. To say anything different would make me look like a total psycho. As the mother of a child the one thing I *really* should be saying is “I miss my child desperately when I am away because she is the joy of my life and the light of my loins.” Okay but here is the thing, I was just gone for five days from The Munch – and I am pretty sure I didn’t miss her at all.

    Ummmm is that bad? Does that make me a terrible person? I didn’t even really think about Munch that much when I was gone either. Holy crap – that makes me a worse person doesn’t it. Fuck. I am not doing well right now. Wait… wait for it… okay breathe… it actually felt awesome not to think about or miss my child. Shit.

    For the first 15 months of Munch’s life I was basically with her every minute of every day. Trust me. Read my blog during those early years and there is a meticulous account of every detail, including the consistency of her feces once food was introduced. But now that The Munch is four, there is more autonomy for us both. We have our own lives separate from each other. Munch goes to school, she has a babysitter, she spends time with family… Yet even though I do have physical freedom in my everyday life – what I don’t have is mental freedom. I am always having to think about where she is, who is picking her up, what food she has, if she is wearing the right leotard, does she have her rain coat, is there an extra pair of shoes in her bag, and are they the right fucking shoes because my kid is both neurotic and crazy.

    PS…. I also didn’t miss the tantrums, the yelling in my face about not giving her a 3rd piece of chocolate, the shoe throwing, the stink eye, the refusal to get dressed in warm clothes… you know, the basic toddler rage or a developing human.

    I don’t go away that often, so those days where I could just think about me and my needs were seriously epic. I was hundreds of miles away from Munch, and having a break from being responsible for her was as satisfying as burping after drinking soda too fast. It made me realize just how emotionally taxing it is to always have someone else on your mind. To be constantly worrying about them, and wanting to make sure they are okay. It is like Munch is a fascist dictator of my brain and heart. But it is not her fault! Well sort of, because she is really demanding…. But I blame the biological and psychological bond of motherhood more because holy fuck is it intense. Thanks a lot nature!

    On day three, The Munch was missing me so I talked to her on the phone. She was crying and telling me she wanted me to come back – but I got her laughing so then she was fine. Although I was momentarily sad that Munch was sad, it was also amazing talking to her on the phone because I never really do that either. There aren’t a lot of opportunities because we aren’t usually away from each other for that long. Yet having a phone call with my kid only further reinforced the truth of how the physical separation between us is only increasing as she ages. The attachment of those baby years is no longer, and now our relationship will have to withstand distance. Munch and are only going to grow farther apart because her life will take her away from me at times, as will mine. We can’t be together every moment of every day, so the journey then turns into staying emotionally connected even when we are not in each other’s faces.

    There is a certain beauty of loving someone so much you yearn for them. The Munch missed me because I have been the anchor of her life, and I represent so much in terms of love, safety, and security. Yet soon The Munch will crave independence, and want to get away from me. It is probably then that I will miss her desperately and call crying, but she will be like “Ugh… thank god I am away from my mom so she can stop fucking writing about me for five minutes.” But fuck you future Munch because I will write about that phone call so you can’t escape me!

    When I got home Munch was sooooo happy to see me that it actually made me tear up. She kept hugging and kissing me – telling me how much she loved me. I felt so honored to mean so much to this precious person. I was totally humbled by how much I adored her, and how lucky I was to have this tiny tyrannical human in my life. I held Munch in my arms and knew that every moment, even the hardest ones, were totally profound because of the depth of our love. Then of course she got mad at me because I wouldn’t let her watch “My Little Pony,” and I started planning my next trip.

    didn't-miss-you-blog-(i)

    September 22, 2014 • 4 years old, Adventures, Mommy Mind, Mommyhood, Parenting, Relationships, Working Mommy • Views: 1672

  • Manicuring Pubic Grass

    Kids these days are waxing off their public hair so their genitalia looks like Daddy Warbuck’s head. Ripping out their private fabric so they’re as smooth as a marble countertop at an ice cream shop.  It is all the rage in porno culture and has become so pervasive that having a full bush is as rare as an honest politician. As a feminist, I am not supposed to be into  because said hair has a functional/sanitary purpose, and  removing it leaves women vulnerable to bacteria.  At the same time, it can block our little man in the canoe, so that is something to consider…. just saying.

    There’s a lot of rhetoric around men liking women to shave/wax because they want them to look like little girls, but I don’t really think that’s true. Most guys I know haven’t seen a lot of naked little girls, nor do they lust after them.  I don’t think a hairless cootch is a return to some sexual awakening because the majority of eight year old boys aren’t getting any. I think guys like it because it is easier to see what is going on and when his face is buried in the canyon, the hint of pee isn’t lingering in the follicles. Just as there are practical reasons to keep your pubic curtain, there also are reasons to spread it.

    Although there is logic to manicuring one’s pubic grass so it doesn’t get stuck in the teeth of  a loved one, I also think there is great potential in branding your crotch with the shape of your hair.  I mean, can’t we get more creative than a “landing strip?”  Why bother going through the trouble only to end up with a Hitler mustache?

    Why not wax your pubes into an outline of an om to prove your spirituality? Or demonstrate your punk rock personality with a vaginal silhouette of Iggy Pop? I think preppy girls should groom into a Burberry plaid and intellectual women could perhaps coif their tufts into prose from Kierkegaard. There is so much potential that is wasted when the whole mane is stripped away.

    More ideas worth consideration (applicable for men too btw — you don’t want to tickle your lady friend in the nose when her mouth is full of oysters):

    1) An alien landing pad (no explanation needed)
    2) A selfie (obvi)
    3) A bottle of champagne (so everyone knows you are a boss)
    4) Who you are voting for in the next election (so your politics are known before things get too far)
    5) An iPhone (so it gets lots of attention and finger work)
    6) A map (again, no explanation needed)

     

    public-grass-blog-(i)

    September 18, 2014 • Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 2367

  • Enter into MY reality Bitch!

    When someone is an asshole to me, my initial reaction is usually “Wow you really suck salty scrotums. I hope you choke on sperm chunks so hard it comes out your nose, dribbles down your face and back into your mouth.” It’s easy to assume that rude conduct is indicative of a rude human. It can be challenging to distinguish between the behavior and the person when someone is energetically, metaphorically, or physically crapping in your mouth. Yet just because someone is acting like a dick doesn’t mean they are one.

    Dealing with humans can still be exhausting! At any given moment we might be contrarian, mildly antagonistic, or moderately unreasonable. When I can’t relate to the person I’m with, all I want is to shake them like a British nanny until they are living in my reality. What is wrong with you and your crazy fucking thoughts!!?

    I had an epiphany the other day about relationships. I was listening to this podcast about people with Alzheimer’s and how to best relate to them. The prevailing thinking has been when Grandma makes statements inconsistent with “reality,” she should be corrected. “Grandma, this is your home now”, or “That is your grandson,” or “don’t eat that- it’s a book.” Yet now research suggests instead of talking Alzheimer’s patients out of their reality, we should enter into it. If Grandma says she sees monkeys out the window, we should tell her her how much we hope they come inside and run around. In other words, embrace her reality.

    Profound, right? Even more so when considering how this approach is is applicable to all people. We all construct narratives in our heads to make sense our realities and when people challenge them, we often go on the defensive. NO MAN, STOP TELLING ME YOUR REALITY. THIS IS MY REALITY!! Instead of projecting our realities onto others, why not embrace theirs?

    When I have an issue with someone, I usually focus on how they make me feel. What if I turned that around and deeply considered how the other person feels? I tried this with The Munch recently to see if it might an effective strategy when she is being a total fuckface… I mean faintly challenging.

    We were getting ready in the morning and I told her we had to go to her hippy doctor so she could get her wandering eye poked at with crystals and sage or whatever.

    Munch: I don’t want to go today. I just want to go to Debbie’s house.
    Toni: But I made the appointment already. It’s too late to cancel so we are going.

    We went downstairs to eat breakfast and The Munch’s mood turned to shit. She was cranky, yelling, and eventually threw her shoe in the sink while I was doing dishes. I wanted to throw my shoe at her damn face at after that, but instead I tried to enter her reality instead.

    Toni: Munch, what is going on with you? Is something wrong? I think you know better than to throw your shoe. Can you tell me what is going on?
    Munch: I really don’t want to go to the doctor today. Sometimes it hurts and I don’t want to get my eye adjusted. I just want to go to Debbie’s house.

    I can work with that. In all fairness, she had made a request that I didn’t listen to, so she was upset. I can understand why it is hard for her to have to go to the doctor and get prodded and she didn’t want to deal. It’s not like I am going to acquiesce to her every time she doesn’t want to do something, but I felt compassion for her in that moment.

    I went to Munch’s hippy doctor instead and it was AWESOME! She fixed my ankle that had been hurting for months. WIN for ME!

    Poor Munchee and her eyepatch

     

    reality-blog-(i)

  • The iPhone, iWatch, and iBrain

    So I watched the promo video for the new Apple iWatch and now I want to abandon all my modern belongings, strip myself of every technological dependency, and crawl into a cave to live like a Doomsday “Prepper” eating cans of meat and dried bat feces.  We officially live in a trans-humanist nightmare: the future will not only be ruled by androids, but we are becoming them. The line where machines end and humans begin will be so blurred that even Robin Thicke will weep metal tears.

    How many separate devices do we need for people to get a hold of us? There is already the computer, the smart phone, the iPad, and now you can get call from your spouse nagging you to bring home that magazine you keep leaving at work on your fucking watch?! Do we really want people to have more access to us!!?? If I put my phone down for two hours, when I come back there are 19 text messages – 12 of which are wondering why I didn’t answer the previous text sooner. The last thing I want is for people to increase their expectations of my ability to be in constant contact.

    Having an additional interface to connect over is not only superficial, but also oppressive. Phones are cool when you want to use them, but the relentless sense of obligation or compulsion to check them cannot be healthy. We need mental space to be in the moment and actually live life away from the distraction of message alerts. This lifestyle where we are “on call” to one another 24-7 takes us away from fully being present with each other or ourselves. I like my phone so I can reach out when I feel like it, not so I can be reached constantly. With Apple’s latest device if you leave your phone in your pocket for a minute of peace, then the iWatch will be like “Nope… don’t you even think of ignoring me because I am on your wrist motherfucker. Oh, and btw, Becky wants to know if you are bringing guacamole to the party.”

    Humanity really doesn’t need another device to take us away from our own thoughts. Too many of us already have an addiction to our phones- do we need the seduction of a new device? It’s like suggesting to a cokehead they try heroin to take the edge off and fall asleep easier. Many of us know the impulse to check our phone the moment we are alone with our thoughts… which means we rarely give ourselves any real time to think. Unconsciously surfing the web to avoid boredom is not making us smarter – it’s actually making us dumber. How do I know we are getting stupider? I don’t know -ask Google!!!

    The Apple commercial touts the many ways the iWatch will actually heighten intimacy rather than interfere with it. For example, their cutting edge consumers can now send their lover little pictures they draw with their finger, or the actual pulse of their beating heart. Call me old fashioned, but if some guy I was screwing texted his heart beat, my lady boner would be so flaccid I wouldn’t be able to stir coffee. Who are these people who want more ways to flirt via their appliances? Unless you are giving me a washing machine to sit on, can’t we do this face to face? Why not send your lady flowers or give oral sex like a normal person? What kind of world do we live in where getting an emoji on my watch is supposed to turn me on??

    How many iProducts do we need? Will all our home appliances soon be created with embedded apps so as to better “connect” with our friends? Will I be Instgramming through my dishwasher and checking Facebook on my electric toothbrush? Where does it end? Are we soon going to implant microchips in our heads so we can have an iBrain?

    Perhaps I’m being dramatic. Yeah, the iWatch has a bunch of cool features, but is projecting your pictures on the wall worth the psychological impact? Watch the commercial yourself and decide. Listen to his pseudo British accent and the way he pronounces aluminum. Fine I will too. I will watch it again and again and again, and again… because fuck that watch looks cool. I really want one.

    iwatch-blog(i)

    September 10, 2014 • Current Events, Musings • Views: 2511

  • Do Hidden Cameras and Dumb Tweets Help Stop Violence Against Women?

    Sometimes I ask myself, “What is going to stop men from raping women or beating them within inches of their lives?” And by sometimes I mean every time I read an article about a crime against a woman – which is daily.

    Even though men are the ones who are often perpetrating these offenses, I don’t think blaming them is the answer. There will never be any true systemic change regarding the way women are treated if the polarity between the genders continues. Men are not exclusively the enemy, and women and are not exclusively the victims. We all suffer from a culture of abuse and violence. What varies is how we choose to internalize it, and the bodies we have to externalize it.

    Yet as much as I can acknowledge the challenge of understanding one’s masculinity in modern times, I am still like come on guys… can’t we just not rape and beat women?

    One way to force people to acknowledge the ugliness of brutality towards women is accountability. Not that I am condoning a society run by Big Brother, but the fact that privacy is now something you need to seek means people are essentially more liable for their actions. I am not just talking about hidden cameras, but also the ways in which we publicize ourselves through social media.

    When you are being watched, you will be held up to a different standard.

    Let’s take for example how musician CeeLo Green tweeted a remark that said rape is only rape if the woman is conscious. “”If someone is passed out they’re not even WITH you consciously, so WITH implies consent.” He also added “People who have really been raped REMEMBER!!!”

    What?? No Ceelo… just NO! I used to love you in Goodie Mob! You were the best judge on The Voice!  You look like an oompa loompa Why did you do that??!!

    An added dimension to Ceelo’s remark is that a woman recently accused him of slipping her ecstasy without her consent – but the charges were eventually dropped. So this statement carries an extra sinister element because of that context. Green’s lawyer argued the two had “consensual relations,” despite the woman’s claim that she woke up in bed next to Green and was unsure of what happened the night before. Ummmmmm… after reading that tweet I think you gave her the ecstasy Ceelo, and I am pretty the charges shouldn’t have been dropped!!!!

    Since his words were recorded in the public domain – there were consequences.  Ceelo was pulled from performances, and his TV show was cancelled. Similar to what happened with the leaked video of Ray Rice abusing his girlfriend. It was one thing to hear about Rice beating her up, but it was another thing to see him punch her in the head and then nonchalantly drag her limp body out of the elevator. Hearing this news got Rice a suspension, but seeing him to do it got Rice kicked off the team.

    That is progress!

    Even though I feel happy there is an effort towards justice, I do cringe regarding the racial aspect of these cases because they both involve black men. I am glad these guys are paying for what they did despite the fact they are rich enough to hire the best lawyers, but they are still black enough to be seen as guilty. There are many white men from frat boy culture who act just as abhorrently, yet are not made into public examples because of the race/class privilege.

    When you live in a political system that thrives on domination and power over others, you are going to be psychologically corrupted. Yet even though there are relevant and potent influences outside of us, we still have the capacity to make different choices. We can reject the system by questioning it. The more we talk about these issues, even to the point of obsession, the more it will persuade people to analyze their own participation in it.

    That is why these public cases are so important. That is why women coming forward to report abuse is so meaningful. Because without the transparency, there will be no motivating force towards change.

    rice-ceelo-blog-(i)

    September 8, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 3497

  • Do You Like Kissing for Kissing’s Sake?

    Have you ever wondered why we lick each other’s tongues? Kissing is one of those rituals that seems normal, but when you think about it for too long it is actually strange as fuck. What possess us to open our mouths at each other, and then mush them together? It is not like horses kiss… or lizards? Why do us humans have the desire to smack our lips together in a somewhat rhythmic fashion?

    There are a couple of theories. One is that just like birds or monkeys, humans used to “mouthfeed” their young. Meaning prehistoric Mammas would chew up their tiger meat, and then spit it into their baby’s faces for nourishment. I feel like I missed out on some pretty cool opportunities to get my kid to eat steamed Kale by not doing this. Just saying. So there was this pre-existing practice of mouths swapping contents, but instead of food adults would exchange salvia. YUM!

    Yet the reason why tasting another person’s slobber is relevant, is because there is a lot of biological information about a person’s health inside their drool. So licking up spittle is a way of mate selection… the better the taste and the better the kissers, the better the reproducers. So that is why some people taste like rat skin! Thanks nature!

    Even though we all enjoy kissing, I do think that the genders have different relationships it. Often times, chicks like to kiss for kissing’s sake. That is why drunk girls will get all sloppy and kiss each other. Don’t freak out…. I am not hating on inebriated same sex making out. I have done it. But it wasn’t because I wanted to feel my friend’s boobs or anything – I just wanted to experience the sensation of the kiss. A girl can be totally satisfied by a kiss, and in many cases that is all she wants.

    Just because a girl kisses you doesn’t mean she wants to fuck you, but I would bet 99 times out of 99 times when a guy kisses you, he is basically saying “lets do this with our crotches too okay?” Dudes mostly regard kissing as a precursor to sex. I bet a tongue going into a mouth just reminds them of other pointy things they have that likes going into stuff. When you kiss guy, they get a boner, and then they are like “hey, this wont’ go away until I put it inside of something warm. So you have any holes you want filled or what?”

    It is not that ladies owe a guy sex just because she kisses him, but chances are that he is going to bring it up – since it is up anyway. So for the girls who want to make out but not bang, they then have to say, “maybe you need to put that into a cup of custard instead of me because I just was just looking for a kiss.” But it is kind of awkward to reject a guy after you kissed him because he gets this sad disappointed look on his face, like you just kicked a kitten in the twatt.

    Sooooo I have an amazing idea to solve this problem. You know how dudes drug girls with roofies? Chicks should drug guys with anti-boner pills before kissing. They could just slip it in their Miller Light, make out as much as they want, but not have to deal with him trying to poke her with his penis. Everybody wins!

    (Here is Miley Cyrus kissing some pretty weird shit – you’re welcome)

    kissing-blog-(i) kissing-blog-(i2)

    September 4, 2014 • Musings, Relationships, Sex Stuff • Views: 7120

  • Turning Rape Into Art

    A Columbia student, Emma Sulkowicz, has taken the experience of her rape and turned it into a performance art piece. She has vowed to carry a mattress everywhere she goes as long as she is forced to attend the same school as her rapist. The mattress is meaningful not only as a metaphor for the burden she must carry, but also signifies the actual object where here rape occurred – in her dorm room bed.

    This is the second time I have heard of a young woman transforming her experience of rape into art. The other was Jessie Kahnweiller who made a video satirical called “meet my rapist,” where she runs into her rapist at the farmers market and then starts stalking him, much like the memory of the rape stalks her. The rapist then becomes Jesse’s shadow, and haunts her in every situation as she tries to continue living a normal life. With both these women the message is clear – if you have been raped, the rape doesn’t disappear after the actual act is completed, but it follows you as this abysmal load you are forced haul around everywhere you go.

    Sex is a huge part of relationships, intimacy, and adulthood. When you have lived through an act that taints your connection to sex, then you can never go back to your pre-rape attitude towards it. You instead have to rediscover your sexuality post trauma, which has to be incredibly challenging. I am sure that people who have been raped want to get “over it” or “move on” with their lives, but how could you not be reminded of the incident every time you are at your most vulnerable – in the bedroom with someone else about to enter your body.

    The fact that these women are expressing their pain through art is pretty remarkable. Watching someone struggle with a mattress is so pedestrian that it is in a way more relatable then trying to understand what it feels like to be raped. It contextualizes the experience so that people who haven’t been raped can viscerally connect to the emotions behind the aftermath. People who haven’t been raped need to understand the plight of those that have. How else are we going to stop rape until everyone has some sort of emotional understanding of the brutality, and feels the same impassioned need to do something about it.

    But it does make me wonder about the guys who are doing the raping? How do they feel about that same memory? Powerful? Guilty? Remorseful? Or maybe even worse … do they not think of it at all?

    rape-art-blog-(i)

    September 3, 2014 • Current Events, Women's Business • Views: 2282