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girls
Posts

  • Are Cartoons Getting Sluttier?

    I can admit it; I am not the best girl. I am okay. I know how to tuck this in, push that out, and spruce myself up a bit. But interests in conventionally feminine things have eluded me. Isn’t shaving once a season enough for this world?

    I have been working to socialize my daughter so that she too, sticks to my principles of being a low maintenance chick. So far, my influence seems to be permeating her psyche. She is not captivated by showers, or changing her clothes – which is not only convenient for me, but we are also doing our part as environmentalists by saving water. You’re welcome!

    I have taught her the value of seeing her fingernails as functional tools to pick her nose with, rather than fashion accessories to paint and gloss. And she has no problem rocking her braids for up to 4 or 5 days regardless of the forming of dreads. So far I’m doing a pretty decent job of enforcing my beliefs onto my kid.

    Yet the one place where we diverge is The Munch is really into Disney Princesses, My Little Pony, Strawberry Shortcake, and every toy designed for girls to be girls. This is not something I want to change about her (because I already tried and failed) but I do have a ton of questions for the artists rendering these characters.

    When I was a kid, Strawberry Shortcake had a boxy body, like that of a child, or a piece of cake. It was a square shape. Something a young girl could relate to. Having a body like a square. The modern Strawberry Shortcake has a skinny physique that is long and lean like Giselle. Ummm… Her name is Strawberry SHORT CAKE… shouldn’t she look like a piece of cake, not a model who is runway ready!?

    And what is with the Disney Princesses? Why does every one of them have a “come fuck me” look on their face? Seriously!? It’s one thing to be drawn with a waist to hips ratio that defies all laws of physics, but do they have to have an expression that suggests they are ready for a threesome?

    Most writers creating narratives for girls are seemingly trying to espouse more feminist values, but whoever is drawing these ladies is making them look excessively saucy.

    Tell me I’m wrong! They have such a porno look on their faces!

    Strawberry Shortcake then…

    dp1

    And here she is now?!

    dp 2

    What is Rapunzel thinking about? Maybe “Sure, I’ll put your balls in my mouth.” And that lecherous lizard is like “I got two right here for ya.”

    dp 3

    What is Jasmine trying to tell us? How about “I’ve got a secret. I do anal.” And her Tiger Raja is ready in line. “You bet your sweet ass you do.”

    dp 4

    Here Sleeping Beauty is saying, “Go ahead, come on my face.” And that owl is like “get ready bitch.”

    dp 5

    September 28, 2015 • 5 years old, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing, Women's Business • Views: 946

  • Here You go Sweetie… Eat this Tapeworm for Your Fat Ass

    Hi. The world sucks. Everyone is a total asshole. We might as well just flush our heads down the toilet because that is where society is headed.

    I recently read a delightful article about a mother who covertly fed her daughter tapeworm eggs so she would lose weight before a beauty pageant. When this girl went to the hospital complaining of cramps, the doctors did an ultra-sound thinking she was maybe pregnant, only to discover her belly was full of worms.The teen was administered medicine to flush out the parasites and await the exciting reality of having worms exit her asshole.

    A rehash: a mother didn’t think her daughter was skinny enough, wanted her to win a stupid contest about beauty, and made the decision to risk her child’s life (giving her the life experience of SHITTING LIVE WORMS UP TO 30 FEET IN LENGTH). Can you please close your eyes and imagine a LIVE WORM slithering out your ass, knowing it had been living INSIDE OF YOU??!!

    Of all the things I would not want coming out of my ass, a 30 foot live worm is at the TOP of my list. A squash would be a close second because of the girth, but at least it wouldn’t be moving around. In fact, I would take almost any inanimate object coming out of my ass – including a lamppost – over something that alive. It’s just wrong.

    Now that we’ve gotten over the whole worms coming out the ass part… wait hold on… wretch, gag, barf… okay I am better… there are some GLARING issues about parenting, this mother’s priorities, and how beauty is a defining attribute for girls. Of course I could say the classic rationalization that my mind gravitates towards, like the societal conditioning of women as sex objects, the societal pressure of female attractiveness, and the inaccessibility and absurdity of modern beauty standards. Of course I agree with all these points and believe we’ve been corrupted by oppressive definitions of gender. Yet this is also a chicken and egg scenario. Women often care obsessively about our physical appearance because culture dictates this and our culture is obsessively focused on female beauty because women are obsessed with it.

    We can hate the media for always writing about Kim Kardashian’s body, but every time I see an article about Kim Kardashian’s body I always look at it. I have been socialized to care and I should be furious about the constant objectification of women but I am also totally capable of rejecting this fucked up brainwashing.

    I remember being a kid in history class learning about slavery, the holocaust, Jim Crow, apartheid, and asking the teachers “I don’t get it. How did people allow that?? How could they not know that was wrong?” The prevailing justification I was given, “That was the culture of the time. Those people were reacting to the zeitgeist, so you can’t really blame them for participating in the perceived norm.” To which I would respond “What the dick!” and be sent out of the room.

    My reaction was “No way would I have gone along with that bullshit! I don’t care what kind of culture raised me. I would KNOW slavery was wrong. I would have NEVER let Jewish people be taken to concentration camps. There is NO WAY I would have drank water from some stupid whites only fountain. I would have been different. I would have NEVER let that happen!!”

    The same thinking applies here. Despite conditioning, there were still people who knew enslaving humans/segregation/genocide was wrong and actively fought against it. We women can also be like “fuck this beauty standard shit in the ass.” We don’t have to participate or buy billions of dollars of beauty products every year. We don’t have to hate our bodies or feel insecure that our thighs touch. We don’t have to give a shit about shit. Even though I know it is hard to reject all the fucked up messaging, it was also hard for people to start the Underground Railroad or hide Jews in their attics – but they still did it!

    Let’s do this. Let’s do it for ourselves, our mothers, our sisters and our daughters. Lets keep our toilets tapeworm free

    worms-blog-(i)

    August 26, 2014 • Current Events, Health, Mommyhood, Musings, Parenting, Women's Business • Views: 6414

  • Beauty Is A Rainbow (of hair)

    When you bring your child into a public space, there is a pretty good chance that someone might overhear your conversation and judge you as a parent. This is especially the case when you frequent a new-agey organic restaurant where the seats are painfully close to each other, and the diners next to you are hyper-critical snobs… but in a non-critical accepting way. Yet just because you know someone is listening in on your conversation doesn’t mean you have to self censor. Sometimes you’ve got to speak the truth, even if that means dealing with dirty looks from hippies.

    Toni: I kind of want to dye my hair red like the color of this doll’s hair.
    Munch: You do?! How come Mamma?
    Toni: I don’t know. I guess I am sick of my hair color.
    Munch: I want to dye my hair too then!
    Toni: Okay. What color?
    Munch: BROWN!
    Toni: What?! NO! Not brown! You have beautiful blond hair Munch. Why would you want to dye your hair brown?
    Munch: Because you have brown hair Mamma, and I want to be just like you!
    Toni: Munch that is really sweet, but your hair is awesome. I wish I had yellow hair like you because there is so much more you can do with it. Like you could dye your hair pink if you wanted?
    Munch: No Mamma. BROWN! I want to dye my hair brown!
    Toni: What about purple! It would be so easy. You wouldn’t have to bleach it or anything. You see my hair is too dark for that….
    Munch: Mamma, I want brown hair.
    Toni: Dude there is no way I am going to let that happen. What about blue!!! It would look so rad with your eyes! We could do blue streaks!
    Munch: Nope brown.
    Toni: Okay fine. I guess neither of us will dye our hair then.

    hair-blog-(i)hair-blog-(i2)

  • How Did We Get From Wet T-Shirt Contests To Mass Blowies for A Beer?

    When I was 16, I went to Cancun for “spring break.” My friend Liz and I wanted to go somewhere where we could drink and go dancing. Mexico was the perfect solution. Of course our parents wouldn’t let us go un-chaperoned, so my 19-year old brother and a priest were recruited. Seriously, a priest came with us. He was a good friend of my parents and, luckily for us, he was also an alcoholic. The needs of all parties involved were met. Liz’s parents were reassured knowing their daughter was traveling with a priest, while the priest was too hammered to give a fuck about what we were actually doing.

    At that point in time, I had already exposed myself to a fair amount of adult living. I smoked pot, had sex, done acid, been to bars, tried ecstasy, and knew exactly how much to drink before I blacked out. I was no stranger to “party” culture. All we wanted to do in Cancun was find the foam parties and shake our asses to Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me.” I guess we cared about meeting boys, but not really. We were also still pretty innocent. The trip was more about having fun with each other than a quest to make out with horny dudes, or get laid.

    I saw my first wet t-shirt contest in Cancun. I remember standing in the crowd, thinking “this shit is dumb as fuck.” It wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t authentic – it was like being in a Roman coliseum with a crowd cheering on two men fighting each other to the death. I was surrounded by a primal excitement, but I couldn’t tap into it. I didn’t understand the appeal. All I could think about is “why is that girl doing this?”

    When I was 18, I went to Montreal with my boyfriend and his best friend – again so we could drink without me having to seduce pervy guys on the street to buy me a bottle of crappy liquor. On our way up, I was driving 90 mph in a 60 mph zone and was pulled over. The cop brought me to the local courthouse and the judge threatened jail time for my excessive speeding. The only way I could leave was if we paid the $700 bail. It was all the money we had, save $70 bucks. We didn’t have bank accounts or ATM cards, so we were kind of fucked. We were young and dumb so we paid the bail and went to Montreal anyway. We couldn’t afford a hotel, so decided to spend the night at the only place open all night: a
    strip club.

    Again I faced a cultural phenomenon I couldn’t understand. I get that I am not a man, and far from the intended audience, but still. As I lay my weary head on the cum covered couch all I could think was: “What is going on with these girls? Are they okay?”

    I wasn’t judging the naked ladies. I just couldn’t divorce myself from the empathy of caring about who they were. I was concerned. I saw them as people — not just flapping vaginas. Even though strip clubs are a contained environment and the strippers can make lots of money, they are still symptomatic of a consistently demeaning shadow of our society. At one point in human history, a strip club consisted of a woman showing her ankle and the bottom part of her petticoat. Now it’s commonplace to look directly into her colon.

    Sexual provocation has reached its’ saturation point– at this point, only those shockingly extreme get noticed. I recently read this article which discussed the fact that sexy party games are no longer about a white t-shirt with some nipple exposure, but rather girls giving blow jobs to 20+ guys for a drink. Is this drink made of diamonds?!?! The only way I would ever do that is if said drink was concocted by Nikola Tesla and contained an alternative fuel source that was not only renewable but also so affordable that it would replace our dependency on fossil fuels.

    Again I wondered what is going on with these girls and where is the compassion for them in the midst of this insanity?? Why didn’t anyone step in after seven guys to say: “Seriously girl. That is enough flaccid penis in your mouth for one night. Take a breather.”

    While this subject matter often raises themes around sexual freedom, exploration, and empowerment, I can’t help but think about inequality. Can you imagine a man in tighty-whities dancing on a bar while girls sprayed his crotch with water so the fabric clung to his balls? You would NEVER see a guy licking twenty pussies for a shot of Patron!!

    I guess guys may think “she likes it…” but what if she is just like Mikey, who knew Life cereal was shit, but just wanted to make people happy?

    I don’t consider myself a prude and I acknowledge that people’s sexual preferences vary drastically. Yet I can’t help but wonder how and why things are they way they are. Where is the empathy for women who are shoving two dicks in one ass? How is that sexy and not a moment of horror? I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest girls do things to impress guys more than out of an authentic interest in washing her face with the sperm residue of 17 men.

    I know giving pleasure is a turn-on for many people. Making someone else sexually excited can do the same for you. Fine. Okay. I dig it. I still think there is a stark difference between the genders in these very public moments of sexual activity (even if self-induced). Something doesn’t add up. I don’t buy the argument that men are visual so they are more interested in this type of stimulation. Yeah a schlong and big bongs are kind of funny looking, but that doesn’t explain the discrepancy. Is it as simple as girls like the attention and boys treat them like royalty when they are acting slutty? But what about after they come… how are they treating the girls then?

    I think it has to do more with control. When you don’t feel in control of your own life or feel a sense of autonomy, you look for the other to save, validate, and define you. When you know you can take care of yourself, there is less fear and feelings of desperation. I don’t think women who are financially and emotionally independent are giving out blow jobs to strangers like candy. There is a sense of insecurity which is specific within the female human experience. Maybe because we are physically weaker? Maybe because men are still the keepers of money, power, and politics? Maybe because the psychological impact of having decisions made for us by men for the past 2000+ years still lingers?

    I’m not trying to be divisive or fan the fire of gender wars, but rather wanting to deconstruct a very real and very disturbing aspect of our society. We are living in a digital age when teenagers can not only film several guys in the act of rape, but then make fun of it on Twitter by re-enacting the poses of an unconscious naked girl who was just horribly violated. Sex is neither playful or fun in this context, and it’s getting to a point where we are becoming totally desensitized. Will young girls be shoving a live goat up her pussy for a beer in the near future? Maybe we could start trying to prioritize empathy over exploitation…

    mass-blow-job-blog-(i)

    July 17, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff • Views: 6509

  • The Hell Of High Heel Shoes

    I do not wear high heel shoes. I am already borderline freakishly tall at 5’9” – so I have never needed an extra boost to loom over people to an even more extreme degree. Even barefoot I am taller than most, so my experience with high heels is very limited. When I do try to wear them, I walk like a NBA player in drag. It is not a good look for me.

    But I get why girls like them. They make your legs look sexy, they are sassy, and they perch up your ass like a cat in heat – but the are as uncomfortable as balls in fishnets. I just don’t think they need to be the uniform of all things feminine, and wish they were more of an accent rather than a required statement of fashion. My main issue with heels is that you are so limited in your movement when you wear them. I know Beyonce can rock out her booty banging choreography in them, but you can’t climb a mountain in Manolos.

    I guess I could just be a hater because of my inexperience. When I lived in NYC my main mode of transportation was a skateboard, so I was always sweating and wearing high-tops Adidas – not the traditional chick attire. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fancy nightclubs and getting my groove on – I was just like a mythical creature in flat shoes surrounded by gazelles in stilettos. All these girls would be looking hot in their fuck me pumps, but I would be in sneakers, twerking without my feet hurting.

    So as the universe would have it, of course my daughter is obsessed with high heels – BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK WOULDN’T SHE BE!!!?? The Munch has these plastic Cinderella “glass” slippers that she insists on wearing every day, for every occasion. These shoes are the bane of my existence. Every normal kid activity such as running, skipping, jumping off rocks, all are done with caution now because of these goddamn mother-fucking shoes!!!!

    It makes me so depressed because more than anything I want my daughter to be a bad ass and do physical shit. So when she is restricting her abilities because of this binding foot torture, it breaks my heart. Yet The Munch is passionately committed to her heels, as well as proving me wrong that they constrain her.

    Munch: Mamma… I can’t climb up the slide!
    Toni: That is because of those forsaken shoes Munch! I keep telling you those aren’t outside shoes! They are dress up shoes!
    Munch: But I am playing dressing up and I am playing outside!
    Toni: Yeah, but those shoes are just for dressing up inside. They suck as outdoor shoes. That is why I keep buying you other shoes to wear. So you can do all the stuff you want to do.
    Munch: I can still do the stuff I want to do!!
    Toni: Munch, no you can’t if you can’t climb up this slide. Look, take your shoes off.
    Munch: I don’t want to.
    Toni: Please just trust me. Take them off for only a minute.
    Munch: Okay, I will listen to you.
    Toni: Now climb up the slide with your bare feet…. See isn’t that so much easier?
    Munch: Yes, but I can still do it with my high heels. I am going to put them back on.
    Toni: I don’t get it! You just had such an easier time climbing with your bare feet, why would you put them back on?
    Munch: Because I like them!

    There I sat at the top of the slide, watching Munch struggle to climb up with her shitty plastic shoes on. They have no traction on the bottom, so she kept slipping, and slamming her knees. Yet she wouldn’t stop trying. At first we were laughing hysterically because it was so insanely hard for her. Then Munch got super angry that she couldn’t do it, and was basically proving my point. I will also add that I am sure I wasn’t helping by rubbing it in, reminding her just how right I was as she slithered down. So then she ran away, sulked for a while on the rock, and gave me dirty looks.

    Then, as if possessed by ambition, Munch came back with the determination of an OCD ox. And I will be damned she climbed the shit out of that slide.

    I guess if she is going to wear these stupid shoes, at least she is building her upper body strength.
    high-heels-blog-(i2)high-heel-blog-(i1)

  • Bikini Girls

    Little girls in bikinis.  Is this okay? Not okay?  Should you even be reading this? Are we going to get arrested for talking about this? I am scared.

    Last week my friend Gita sent me an article about how Gwyneth Paltrow designed a line of bikinis for 4-8 year old girls, and a group called Kidscape was outraged that she was promoting the sexualization of young girls.

    I wasn’t sure what I thought about little girls in bikinis, but I was sure that the 5-year old model was way skinnier than me, so I immediately committed to getting back to my birth weight.  Then…the next day I opened the mail and my mom had sent The Munch a bikini! Coincidence? Irony? Or was the bikini actually for me and my mom was trying to inspire my new diet goals of weighing 7 pounds 4 ounces?

    Of course The Munch was really excited about her new bathing suit and immediately wanted to put it on.  She was at first confused about the idea of a top and didn’t get it.

    Toni: “See… It’s just like Mamma’s Munch.”

    Munch: “Ohhhhhhh.  I see. I see.  To cover my nanas.” (which is what she calls boobs).

    Then she tried on the bottoms, but it was too big,  So The Munch did what any normal person would do.  Took off the bottoms and just wore the top – for the rest of the entire day.

    So now that my daughter not only has a bikini, but is wearing half of one, what do I think about this?  Does clothing sexualize little girls? Or does the observer?  If someone is going to see a child as sexy, does it matter what the kid is wearing? Or does their perversion exists regardless of apparel?  I am not sure – I am kind of the thinking that if someone is going to be turned on by kids, its because there is something wrong with them, and putting the child in a Yves Saint Laurent dress isn’t going to make a shit bit difference.

    But I do think the fashion for children has changed drastically since I was a kid, and there is something creepy about it.  My biggest issue is that kids now look like mini-adults rather than children.

    This was never an issue I had to contend with.  When I was young we didn’t have low wasted jeans or Baby-Tees to chose from.  Clothes were distinctly for kids.  As a pre-teen Pearl Jam was the shit and grunge was what was in style.  All my pants were baggy corduroys, and all my shirts were long sleeve plaids.  In high school, hip hop was the main cultural influence – so again all my pants were baggy and my t-shirts oversized.  I wasn’t hiding my body on purpose, I was just wearing what was considered cool.  I didn’t wear a tight pair of pants, or shirt that fit me, until I was in my 20’s.

    Now leggings, skinny jeans, high heel boots, and tight tops are the current things to wear.  In order for your kid to fit in, they have to be somewhat hip to the trends. But is this look problematic?  I don’t think little boys are necessarily seeing the girls as more sexual -because they are too busy thinking they have cooties, but I do question how little girls start seeing themselves.

    I remember as a child being fascinated by the idea of being a woman. What it would be like to have tits, or my period, were concepts I was intrigued by.  But the truth is that we are women for 80% of our lives.  It is such a short time where we get to be kids, so why not fully immerse ourselves in the experience of it.

    Maybe what kids wear can contribute to their growing up too fast, or maybe it really doesn’t matter.  I tend to believe that valuing your childhood happens within the context of your parents treasuring it as well.  That childhood is more of a state of mind that is preserved through environment.  Maybe once The Munch grows into the bottom half of her bikini I will think differently, but under these circumstances, all I see is a crazy little girl mooning me.

    bikini-blog-(i)

     

  • Share Bear

    Some cultures don’t have the word “mine” because everything is considered “ours.”  For them, personal possession isn’t a concept because all property is communal.  Although I think this is a beautiful notion, I was raised in an environment where my Dad’s popcorn was his, and to even think of taking some I had to consider what life would be like without fingers.

    American individualism means that we are very attached to the idea of “I,” “mine,” and “me.”  The person is more important than the collective.  Although we are taught values, and to honor other people by being aware of their needs, that doesn’t take away that our filter is clouded by the idea of “how will this effect me” more than “we.”

    I would say that I am a generous person.  I am giving with what I have: my money, my time, my home, my love.  But when I view something as mine, and feel ownership over it, I don’t like to share it.  I mean, of course I do share – after all I did graduate from the 3rd grade.  But I do so begrudgingly.  More because I don’t want to say “no” than actually wanting you to have a bite of my cupcake.  And to be honest, I say “no” a fair amount too.  I guess I really like cupcakes.

    But since having a child I have had to share everything with her.  I shared my body with her when she was living inside of it, I shared my precious lady parts with her when she burst out of them, I shared my boobs with her as she survived off of them, I share every single thing I eat and drink with her even though she backwashes and her hands are gross.  And you know what? I want to! I even ENJOY sharing with her.  Those crazy mommy hormones make sharing with her feel better than having myself. I would rather The Munch had the last bite of avocado because it is more important that she eats.  My excessive love for her means I want for her more than I want for me.

    But everyone has their limits.

    Last night when I was putting The Munch to bed she decided she wanted to bring my teddy bear into her crib.  Now, I now I am a grown ass woman, but I have been sleeping with a stuffed animal my entire life and that is my teddy bear.

    Toni: “Munch, that is Mamma’s teddy bear.  But it back on my bed please.”

    Munch: “No I want to bring your bear in my crib.”

    Toni: “No sweetie.  That is Mamma’s.  You have all your babies, your seal named Penguin, your weird vagina looking monster thing… Mamma only has one bear.  So can you put him back please?”

    Munch: “No but I want to bring him in my crib!!! Please Mamma.”

    Toni: “Okay Munch.”

    Did I want to share my bear with her?  No. Not at all.  Did I say yes? Of course I did. I am her mother and my love is unconditional.  And because the second after she feel asleep I took it back.

    (Tell me that is not a vagina monster???)

    share-bear-blog-(i)

  • Are All Kids OCD, Or Just Mine?

    Kids are really into routines.  I guess it calms their frenetic child minds when they can expect what is coming next.  I can see how that would be comforting.  It must be unsettling having no sense of time, never knowing what day it is, and having some giant who speaks mostly in tongues orchestrate your day.   Insisting that they know best when you should sleep, and that you shouldn’t suck all the toothpaste off the toothbrush.

    I am empathetic to The Munch and her particularities.  But sometimes I notice that she gets obsessed in really peculiar and somewhat irrational ways.  Like she has to line up her toys on the bathtub rim in a perfect line, will only wear tights and never socks, eats popsicles only after they have melted, or insists on cutting off all the tags clothes because she thinks they are itchy.  Well actually, I totally relate to the tag thing and do that myself.  I have 45 shirts with holes in the back collar.  I have heard that an obsession with tags touching skin is a mark of high functioning autism but whatever.

    The Munch needs things to be exactly how she wants them to be, and if I don’t honor her eccentricities it is like I tied up her Elmo doll and sodomized him in front of her.

    Example 1:

    Munch: “My hands are cold!”

    Toni: “Here Munch, I have your mittens.  Let me put them on you.”

    Munch: “No I don’t want to wear them! The thumbs are floppy!”

    Toni: “Munch look, they are hardly floppy. I will pull them tight.  See.  Not floppy.”

    Munch: “THEY ARE FLOPPY! Take them off!!!!!!!!!”

    Toni: “Okay fine!”

    Munch: “Ahhhhhhh! My hands are cold!”

    Example 2:

    Munch: “Mamma, cut my sandwich.  I want two pieces.”

    Toni: “Okay.”

    Munch: “No! Now it’s falling apart! Fix it!”

    Toni: “Well, I can’t un-cut it Munch.”

    Munch: “The top is sliding off!!!”

    Toni: “Here, you just have to hold it tight.”

    Munch: “Ahhhhhhh it’s slipping!”

    Toni: “Munch I can’t glue it together?”

    Munch: “Put it back together! Un-cut it!”

    Example 3:

    Munch: “Are my babies in my crib for night-night?”

    Toni: “Yes, they are in your crib waiting for you.”

    Munch: “Other Baby, Old Baby, Water Baby, Car Seat Baby, New Baby, and Headband Baby?”

    Toni: “Well, I think I forgot headband baby.”

    Munch: “NO!! I NEED HEADBAND BABY!!”

    Toni: “But I think she is in the car so lets see her tomorrow.”

    Munch: “I NEED HER!!”

    Toni: “Munch, you have like 100 babies in here. Lets just wait to see her until tomorrow.  She is sleeping in the car.”

    Munch: “Go get her!! Go wake her up!! She is lonely!!”

    Toni: “ Fine… I will go get her.  I will be right back.”

    Munch: “Thank you Mamma.  Is my computer in the crib?”

    Toni: “No Munch, your computer is down stairs.”

    Munch: “But I need my computer in the crib!!”

    Toni: “Well, that actually makes a lot of sense to me.”

    ocd-blog-(i)

    April 3, 2013 • 2 years old, Baby Brain, Behavior, Eating, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1339

  • When you are talented you don’t have to be pretty

    Although the culture at large is obsessed with physical beauty, being an attractive woman can become the defining attribute of your identity.  Men of course can be vain and care deeply about their appearance, but there will still be societal expectations of him beyond his defined cheekbones and sculpted buttocks.  Yet for a woman, sometimes, just being pretty can be enough.

    When a woman is gorgeous it can excuse her from being anything else.  That is why it is always surprising when a stunning girl also happens to be smart, or good at science, or interested in politics.  The “sexy professional” is a concept so absurd by cultural standards that it has become a cliché Halloween costume… in the realm of myth, fantasy, and the ridiculous.

    Even though I know all this, and can identify the meaninglessness of judging women for her looks, I still do it everyday of my life.  I will flip through a magazine or watch a movie and think: “Well, she is not that pretty.  Her left eye is lower than her right and she has this weird dimple thing going on when she talks.  Her forehead is too small and there is a something funky going on with her left ear.  Oh, and her ass is kind of flat and flabby.”

    What am I even talking about?? Why do I do that?

    First of all, all these women are somehow in the spot light and therefor have even more pressure to be aesthetically perfect.  Which is bizarre considering how many foul looking men are able to be in that same position but are critiqued on skill alone.  Then I realized that the women I evaluate the most are the ones that I am not blown away by their talent.  I mean they are okay, they don’t suck, but they aren’t brilliant.  When a woman is really masterful at her craft, be it Lena Dunham, Adel, Brittany Howard, Meryl Streep, Toni Morrison, Janice Joplin, Virginia Wolf, Martha Graham… I don’t give a flying fuck in a rolling doughnut what they look like.  I will maybe rip apart Brittany Spears for her hair extensions showing and having a frozen grin plastered to her face, but that is because she is only mediocre at singing.

    So being excessively beautiful may stunt your growth as a human, artist, or thinker because people’s expectations of you will be lower.  You wont have to push yourself as hard.  Beauty can conceal your averageness.

    Supposedly I am not supposed to tell my daughter she is pretty all the time because that will infect her psyche and she will start to believe her beauty is tied with her self-worth.  No doubt.  This is true, and I down with this idea.  But I also don’t want her relying on her lovely face, and be unexceptional in the rest of her life, because it was too easy to invest more in her genetic disposition.  That sounds lame!  I would so much rather The Munch impress people with her endless genius than her tits or ass.  Of course I don’t want to give her a complex and never acknowledge her adorableness, but at the same time most insanely attractive people are also insanely boring.

     

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    March 18, 2013 • 2 years old, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 690