Vicarious Rising

The Yolk

Before I foray into any dissertation about my views on feminism, I feel I should state here that I haven't fully developed them. I've never wished that I were male, nor have I felt especially held back from doing what I really wished to in life because I was female.

But I would not say that my being a girl has been a non-issue in my life. Although I have tried very hard to imagine it so.

I received mixed messages about feminism from my parents. I suspect my mother wishes she had been born a boy. She has a rather vehement dislike for the Pope (any pope) and most obviously patriarchal structures, yet she flat out favored my younger brother and was quite vocal about how much easier boys were to raise than girls. I'm pretty sure she's got an apron string tied somewhere to my almost 30 year old brother. He lets her keep it there because he gets his own big benefits in other ways. It's not pretty. I really do not wish to perpetuate such a relationship with my son. I know I've got to let the boy grow up and out of my nest.

I was never a tomboy, but I often had as many male friends as female friends. Most of my friends were a motley crew of people from a diverse population. I didn't belong to any crowd. Things got murky for me around high school when my family moved down South and my mom became more paranoid and unpredictable. I had a steady boyfriend at the time, and once I left for college, he proposed and I used him as an escape from the looney bin. I didn't mean to use him, but he was a safe out and my parents thought marriage was an acceptable way for a young lady to leave her parents' home.

Clearly I was not busting out with feminist ideals in my early twenties. But then, I was also the main breadwinner in the household. Much to my then husband's disgruntlement. It was not a good match. We only lasted eight months of living together before I felt completely smothered.

It's interesting to me when femininism is brought up, a lot of men (those not rolling their eyes and clutching their guts) chime in that they like and support strong women. Mainly because who on earth would say the opposite? Or, taking it another direction, how often do you hear women saying they like and support strong men, as if this is something that needs to be clarified?

Honestly, what I am looking for, in some way, is a way to be who I am and comfortable and free to be however my "myselfness" manifests itself. I find it a little irksome to have to dither around saying I am in support of women to do this or that. For fuck's sake, I believe that all people should be supported to their greatest potential and treated equally. But somewhere a line has been drawn and even I can feel it. There's this thing called sexuality that matters. That matters to me, too, as it happens. I've tried to pretend it's not there, but I guess it is time for me to figure out this woman-ness of me because it feels important to preserve.

Damn if I know why. But this is where putting down that chardonnay has brought me. Hello, me.

Defining Innocence

Let's face it, the whole purpose of our existence is procreation, and to that ends, sex is the means. I can get all cerebral out my wazoo and at the end of the day it's still about whether people are still on the planet or not. Kind of basic and maybe a little depressing to look at it that way, but we're just creatures like everything else on earth.

But being human, we like to puff ourselves up with all sorts of importance, why we do this, I've no clue. I know I am plenty guilty of it. To a large degree we do control what lives and dies, where things flourish. We don't always make the best decisions, although whomever makes them believes they are doing the right thing. We like to have power.

This isn't really what I want to talk about, however. I've been thinking a lot about feminine sexuality, and human sexuality in general. My whole thoughts on it are hardly cohesive, so I am going to abuse this blog space to organize my thinking on it. I don't know whether this is a wise thing to do or not, but it feels like what I want to do, so I am.

My son just turned 13 and is experiencing the weird adolescent pangs and awkwardness that goes along with it. As his mother, I don't want to make things worse, but I am not a boy and we've got the whole wacky Oedipal thing going on. I'm constantly barraging my therapist with questions about how to handle my kid without making sex seem freaky or taboo. I wish my son felt more comfortable talking to his father about this stuff, but their relationship is a little hot/cold right now. And I think for my son to see women as sexual and to see mom as a female is weirding him out. It's all just.... yuck.

Of course, I saw how my mother handled all this with my younger brother, which was very, very badly. I will not go that route.

There is a huge part of me that wants to draw back and say "why does it have to be about male/female? why don't we see each other as just people?" I've had similar queasy feelings in the past about racial issues as well, this perplexed feeling about why everyone makes things so complicated when to me it seems like it ought to be easy. I'd just sit around looking at people, like, "I don't understand. Why are you so angry?" Does this resonate with anyone? It was just this strange sense I had that people had it all backwards. But then, I was the only one who seemed to see it that way, so I must've been the nutcase.

I like the things that make people different much in the same way I like what makes, say, a piece of granite interesting. The flaws or the variations are what makes it cool to look at and to find out more about. Maybe they shouldn't even be called flaws, just the inclusions of things that happened in a certain time and space. The things that make men and women different, too, should be revered and enjoyed. I can even buy into the ideas that some of our brain functions work differently, although I'd hold out a bit on that scientifically, just, well, just because.

But I do feel very much like there is something wrong with the world in regards to the status of women. I think we are still considered inferior to men, even in some of our own minds. I'm dismayed at the attitude of some men towards women in regards to sexuality. And one comment that keeps running through my head from the author Jessica Valenti of the Feministing blogsite is that the worst thing a man can call another man is a "girl." Or some other female body part slang starting with a c that ought to be appreciated rather than demeaned.

I'm troubled by these things. I don't understand how society's gone so awry. Well, yes I do. It's called fear. Humanity is rife with it. What's so frightening about a confident woman? Why can't everyone win?

Shit, I am so naive. I really, really am.

The World We Live In

Just a quick update on my nieces: my ex-brother-inlaw unexpectedly agreed to the change in jurisdiction for the custody hearing from Kentucky (where he lives) to Massachusetts (where my sister and the kids primarily live) and also to the Guardian ad Litem being put in place for the girls. He also agreed to the guardian of my sister (and, it should be said, my parents') choice, which is a woman and a psychiatrist and from what I hear, quite expensive.

So, all of these things were approved in court, which is very good for the children and my sister's lawyer says is in my sister's favor. Personally, I am rooting for the kids, whatever that ends up meaning. My therapist says these Guardian programs usually are quite effective at looking out for the needs of the children. I am praying this will be the case here.

Thank you to all who left comments and made kind thoughts and prayers for these little girls. They are sweethearts caught up in the middle of a clash they should be being protected from.

On another note, I feel like I have a bunch of huge blog posts inside me, but not the time to flesh them out. However, I would like to direct people to Slutty McWhore's blog (formerly The Judgemental Whore, which I was kind of partial to, but she can be Slutty if she wants). Part of what's been going through my own head lately is what is feminism. In part, I've been trying to come to grips about what it is to be a woman, which is partly tied in to my romantic and sexual needs and how it relates to my marriage and even how it related to my failed friendship and the politics of my relationship with my parents. I shied away from my feminine side for most of my life, and I am trying to understand this better also within the context of society.

For those of you who have not met Slutty, she is a Scottish woman living in the US working on getting her master's degree and supporting herself as a erotic masseuse. She is a wonderful writer and quite outspoken, and I consider her a strong feminist voice, maybe not because of or despite of her job. Frankly, I haven't decided which. Maybe I just think she breaks the mould. And, perhaps, maybe that's what I think feminism should be about.

Breaking the Cycle of Hurt

I just have a second to post this morning, and without getting too into it, my sister is going to court today to try to get a Guardian Ad Litum (or something like that - this info is from my mother and might be slightly faulty) established for my two little nieces who are six and nine. To make a long story short, there has been a long, drawn out custody battle between my sister and her ex-husband and the girls have been hustled between Kentucky and Massachusetts and subjected to a lot of shit they should not have had to deal with. Both are in therapy. The older one is developing serious OCD problems. Both are very anxious.

Anyway, I have hopes that an outside advocate (this Guardian person) might be the best bet for these kids. I know I feel completely helpless in stepping in and doing anything at risk of being cut off  from my relationship with them or worse. So, for those of you inclined to send good karma vibes or pray, if you could send some nice thoughts for my little nieces, it would be wonderful.

Thank you.

Send Out the Flying Monkeys

The other day we bought a t-shirt at Target for my son that had some saying about it's all fun and games until the flying monkeys show. For those of us old enough (my son came up with this terrific word "decrapitated" to describe his dad and I) to have watched The Wizard of Oz when it was only on television once a year, this is a reference to the Wicked Witch of the West's army of freaky primates. My son, on the other hand, has never seen the movie, has no real desire to and doesn't get the reference. But he still thinks the shirt is hilarious. For him, it's a non-sequiteur sort of humor. I guess I don't know which way makes it funnier. It makes me a little sad not sharing Wizard of Oz with him.

I know I've been a bad blogging buddy, but it still depresses me that no one left comments on my last post. Ok, it wasn't pulitzer stuff and I wrote it in about 15 minutes, but... wahhhhhhh.

Alrighty. Tantrum over.

My house is still another two weeks off from finished, that ubiquitous marker ever elusive, and we had a leaky toilet debacle. I'm still more or less zen. Ok, less zen. I want in. My patience is a little thin. I was promised to be in well before my February 4 birthday and it's looking less and less promising.

I subscribe to Merriam-Webster's word of the day because I like having fun with words. Today's was

weasel word - a word used in order to mislead a person or to avoid a straight answer

This cracked me up for a number of reasons. How many of you know people who utilize this tactic? What I found even more interesting was the follow up info:

Some people believe that weasels can suck the insides out of an egg without damaging the shell. An egg thus weasel-treated would look fine on the outside, but it would actually be empty and useless. We don't know if weasels can really do that, but the belief that they could caused people to start using "weasel word" to refer to any term intended to give the impression that everything is fine when the speaker is really trying to avoid answering a question, telling the truth, or taking the blame for something.

I definitely know some people who tend to have a script and say the same words and phrases over and over (weasel words?) in a way that seems to obfuscate the truth while giving some sort of plausible, nice sounding answer. It makes it sound as if they have conviction in what they are saying when the reality is that they can't afford to stray from the script. Pretty sophisticated tap dancing. Annoying, if you ask me.

I don't know what weasels have to do with flying monkeys, but this is where my brain is at today. Maybe my sanity check did not go as well as I had originally thought.

Sanity Check

I think it is true that the people who need the most therapy are the ones most likely to avoid getting it. The people who acknowledge they are a little off usually have their shit a bit more together than those who are so laced up that they will crack should anything go even slightly astray.

My mom is one of those people. She used to be given to saying she was perfect without a trace of irony. I don't know if she still says this anymore. I do know I used to fully believe her as a child when she said this. It would depress me because I knew utterly that I was not anywhere near perfect, if for no other reason than for the angry thoughts I could not restrain from running through my head from time to time. Such as, I do not like my parents. No good girl would ever entertain such evil notions.

My mother refuses to see or even be in the same room as a mental health worker, even if said worker is for someone other than herself. She also does not leave her house for weeks if my father is out of town and no longer "does highways," in her own words. To name a few things that she thinks are within a perfectly normal range of behaviors. Her current favorite television program is Monk, which she says makes her feel less odd for her idiosyncracies. I wish she'd take the hint that Mr. Monk is actually in therapy and is seen as having a major disability while also being a wonderful human being. Alas, this message is lost.

My son sometimes has trouble with changing gears, and I worry that this is somehow related to him needing things to be just so. I've tried to teach him that perfectionism is not a necessary goal. But at the same time, he does get messages that he is to do his best and that we have high expectations of him. How to draw the proper line is difficult.

One of the reasons I feel like I am doing so well mentally right now is not so much that I am rolling with the punches that are being thrown outside of me, it is that I am not throwing so many at myself. But I do have to stop myself from time to time to ensure I am not just covering up some torrent of anxiety with my avalanche of work surrounding my new home project. In the past, I have been successful at masking troubled feelings by taking on a "worthy" or "proper" task. Something that I thought morally and socially was correct to do. A fine home for my husband and son (and I) falls into that category. I did something like this when I got married the first time and planned a traditional wedding for all my guests, but not myself.

It is important I make sure the smile I have is on the inside. Certainly, there are things that have not gone as I would like and some bumps in the road, but I feel like I have really begun to understand what it is that I am looking for in my life. Things with my husband have improved, and a good deal of it has been a shift in my own attitude. Part of my problem was not having clarity on what I wanted, and therefore not knowing how to go about asking for it. My husband is never going to be a mind reader or one for deep, introspective conversations. But we do have a terrific unspoken rhythm and communication that I had not been connecting to while I was running around trying to figure out what I need. I'm not saying I know everything I need or want, but I do know that my husband is there for me in his way.

My head is not entirely on straight. My temper still exists. I don't know how to handle all my newly teenaged son's cropping issues and tensions with his dad. I still miss not having the relationships I want with my sister and parents. There are plenty of things I would like to improve about myself. But mostly, I am enjoying my life and being me. The grin on my face is not just a facade to keep people away.

My kid says that "sick" is the new "cool." So, I wonder if being an alcoholic and being sick makes me extra cool or just extra fucked up or if we are finally embracing mental illness as a good thing?

Bleh. I'm starting to show my age. And it's all good.

Shout Out to the Maniacally Gifted

Call me frenetic, scattered or just plain slothful, but I haven't had much time to spend on my blogging activities what with the limbo living situation going on. The contractor dudes keep saying "two weeks" until closing and I could have sworn that was about eight weeks ago, but progress continues on my dream house. I won't complain. Much.

One of these days I'll get some photos up here of it. Not that any of y'all care that much, but maybe you do and it is a work of art, if I do say so myself. We eschewed any decorator and I did all the hunting and selecting of just about every fixture, moulding and fiber with final approvals by my husband. And dammit if I am not busting with pride.

So, today I wanted to post a little link to an artist on Etsy who I ran into while looking for throw rugs. OK, it's a necklace and has nothing to do with home decorating, but her store name Etcetrix caught my eye, as did the name of her jewelry piece "Dexter charm necklace."

Being a fan of the Showtime program "Dexter," I clicked on the image to find this darkly wonderful design that is an ode to all that is that loveable murderer. I'm tempted to buy it, but I am afraid Christmas and my son's birthday has left my budget solely limited to new home purchases.

I hope the house will be completed soon and I will be able to settle into some sort of normalcy. Ha! Like I know what normalcy is. But I do miss being able to get on the computer for reasons other than hunting down lamps. As much as I enjoy preparing my nest, I miss my online friends and their words of that make me think and laugh. The lot of you are among the specially talented and dear to my heart. That sounded better in my head and I hope I didn't offend. You know who you are.

...awww... and he sings too...

I wanted to share this post from singer/songwriter John Mayer's blog. I like his music pretty well, especially Bigger Than My Body (and when he sings it, that fugly/sexy thing works for me... I saw him on Saturday Night Live and was like, "sheesh, that's a scary face, but it's sort of a turn-on with that voice and guitar). He's given permission for anyone to reprint his post, so here it is. Anywho, it's nice to see a famous person not being an idiot for a change.

UNDER THE (IMPRESSION I CAN) INFLUENCE (PEOPLE AROUND ME)

With Chad, Left, seated. (With glasses)


I'm taking to the blog today to share something with you that I feel more passionate about than I saw coming.
I want to make it short and sweet so that anybody who wants to re-print it can copy and paste without editing...

Went out to dinner Thursday night. My car. One glass of wine. Carpooled from dinner to go out to one more place. Everyone in my car. At the next spot, I do the Diet Coke with Lime thing. My favorite scotch (Lagavulin 16 year) arrives under my nose. "Can't do it," I say. Then I find out my friend has switched to Designated Driver and has a plan that involves everyone getting home safe. Cool. I love Lagavulin when the time is right. Now it's the end of the night and I'm feeling wonderfully buzzy and ready to get dropped off to my house in my car, except the person that was going to follow my car in the DD's car to drive him back isn't in shape to drive either.

It's 2 o'clock in the morning. I call my housemate Chad. Chad's sleeping. He was in the studio all day. I explain to him that I need him to jump in the back seat of my car, ride to the DD's car and drive me back home. Of course Chad says "yes" and comes through like a champ. A champ, I say.

Here's what I want to tell you:

If I, incredibly hot/fugly John Mayer can make that call, so can you.

The distance from the parking lot to my house was about 5 miles, mostly straight shot up the coast of Santa Monica, zero traffic. And I didn't drive it. Me. The guy who gets the VIP velvet rope treatment in life.

Oh, and the call? It's not the coolest you'll ever sound. And the logistics? It's kind of inelegant. You trace the same route twice when all you want to do is fall into bed. But you gotta do it.

This is all coming from a guy who you can be sure would have found a sexier way to get home if there was one available. And there just isn't, especially in LA. (You can be sexy again the next day when you wake up with the rest of your big, beautiful life in front of you.)

I'm not writing this to earn golf claps, it's just that if I'm going to stand in any way as an ambassador of something cool or influential, this is more important than any pair of sneakers or a guitar.

And to give a big high five to the Chads of the world.

See you around

JM

License to Revel

A few other bloggers I follow were picking a single word as sort of a mantra for the new year. I think this is an interesting idea, as I dislike resolutions. I chose BALANCE as my word. I'd love to hear anyone else's word, if you decide to pick this up as well.

Balance is a tricky thing to maintain. More often than not, things keep an equilibrium by swinging back and forth between extremes rather than staying still in a peaceful center. At the same time, I've tried to live in a place where nothing moved, and that was numb and probably a lot like death. I wouldn't call it living at any rate. That state of being, for me, was about fear and retribution.

When I was a kid, I learned not to be too excited or happy about anything. My parents were certain to rain on my parade, whether it was through criticism or by taking away the things I cared most about. My most prized thoughts and possessions became secrets. Sometimes they became secrets even to me. I didn't dare love too deeply, celebrate too much or enjoy too fully. Because one thing I could count on is that whatever pleasure I derived from that action, person or thing would be taken away.

I'm learning to do away with this extreme view of balance and recognize I am entitled to have a good life and enjoy it just because I am. I've been having dreams about having fun with my friends, dreams that I used to have about going out with a bunch of strangers and getting hammered and not remembering picking up the drink or why I did it. It is a marked change that the dreams are about being with people I love and not including me poisoning myself. However, I am still not remembering our nights out having fun. I'm still holding myself back experiencing the joy of conviviality. I can't quite allow myself to have fun.

Slowly I am peeling away my defense mechanisms and letting myself believe that this life I've created is one I deserve and that the hand of God isn't going to come whisk it away. I really like this happy feeling, the one that makes me each day a little closer to being grateful just to be me.

Yes, I think I am actually having fun.

Cloudy Thinking

I've always been a daydreamer. When I was in elementary school, it was a way to get through classes that were moving way too slowly for my liking. It got me through long car rides and extended stays in my bedroom when I was hiding from my mother and had reread my favorite books more times than I cared to count.

When I was drinking, daydreaming was a full blown activity. I became totally immersed in my dreams, schemes, plans, all the things and possibilities. It definitely made chores like doing the laundry and cleaning house much more interesting. Unfortunately, it was difficult to conquer the world when trapped in my head.

Daydreams are still crucial to me. They are tied to my senses of hope and possibility. They are key to my creativity. I have to find the proper balance between the dreaming and the action. To not get stuck in the fantasy.

When I was doing a little perusing of catalogs yesterday, I found this painting of a woman reclined on a sofa that I think looks a little like me. I bought a lovely leather chaise lounge for my office in the new house, and I think a good framed reproduction of this work would be perfect hanging above it. The painting is by Escha Van Den Bogerd. It is called Daydreamer.