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Stratify THIS

  • Posted on February 23, 2010 at 1:07 pm

The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off. ~Gloria Steinem

I spaced on a homework assignment. Okay, two. I was annoyed with myself when I realized that I’d not read the chapter, much less written the paper when it hit me:

It went into that deadzone in my brain where all obnoxious “deal with it by ignoring it” things go. Ignore it until I can get to a place where I can deal (and right now isn’t really that time).

The class is “Social Stratification”. The study of our society and how race/class/gender/income all come together to make us who/what we are. When I’m in class, I’m engaged, constantly relating my life experiences to the topic at hand (and working hard at keeping my big mouth shut so Those Kids can participate in class too LOL).

But the more I read the more I wanted to be doing something ANYTHING else. I flip to my Google Reader (72 unread), to my Gmail (nothing), to my OKCupid profile (one message, not flirty), to my school mail (nothing) to picking up the broom and sweeping everything into a pile so I can pack my backpack and make sure I’ve got workout gear and my lunch and OOPS I’m too late to get to class on time.

Which is a good thing, because the reading response? Still not written. Because I still haven’t finished the chapter and I can’t respond to the chapter until I’ve read it. Why?

I don’t WANT to see in print that I’m economically beyond disadvantaged. I don’t WANT to read that because I’m a Female Head of Household (with no husband present) the odds of me being “successful” (depending on how you define success, of course) are slim-to-none. I don’t WANT to read that the fat cats are getting fatter while I bust my ass and that it’s always been this way and always will.

I get it. I promise I do. I’ve been listening to “you can’t DO that” my entire life and I’m GOING to do it anyway because there’s no good reason for me to just sit on my hands and get steamrolled. We’re fine, we’re making it, please take your statistics, roll ‘em up tight and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine.

Care to leave a comment?

Well hello there, you curvaceous cutie!

  • Posted on February 18, 2008 at 1:26 pm

You sure have come a long way in the last few years, huh? Listen, thanks for not exploding when my blood pressure took off. Hell, thanks for not exploding during that last month of pregnancy. It really means a lot to me that you were able to keep it together through all that neglect. And I know, I know – I need to start taking vitamins again. But can I have props for at least remembering to take our daily meds?

I want you to know that I really don’t expect you to look a certain way anymore (although I really wish that I had THIS attitude back when a quarter could bounce off our ass and make change). I know that the off-the-shelf clothes don’t really fit properly, and I’m sorry about that. Clothing manufacturers have to hit a sort of size range, and well….with a waist that is 7 inches smaller than your hips, nothing is really going to really work.

The way I see it, there are only a few things we need to work on. That whole not-sleeping thing we’ve got going on? Yeah, we need to fix that the rest of the way. It’s time to wrap the brain around a bathing suit – we promised the kids we’d go to the beach this year. And really, truly – it’ll be OK if we leave the majority of the books in the van instead of carrying them around all.day.long. Also? How about if we work on that whole “priorities” thing? You know – schoolwork THEN the google reader.

One last thing: You were a huge asshole when you were fourteen. Your daughter is a huge asshole now that she’s fourteen. You got over it (for the most part), so will she. A panic attack every time she pitches a fit really is overkill.

This is my contribution to BlogHer’s Letter to my Body campaign.

Care to leave a comment?

The one where she blogs about boobs

  • Posted on February 22, 2007 at 2:51 pm

The way people find my blog never ceases to amaze me. A very few friends have me bookmarked, but the vast majority of people come from google searches – with one glaring exception.

Back in July 2006, indignation rippled through the blogosphere. Pro- and anti-breastfeeding mothers the world ’round spouted their opinion of a baby obviously nursing on the cover of BabyTalk Magazine. Obviously (at least, to me) ANY magazine about babies these days is going to show a little boob.

Wet Feet did a blog entry about it, and I contributed to her listing of “Boobs around the ‘net” – a bunch of moms who ALSO did breastfeeding-positive blog entries in one handy-dandy list. My own contribution is one of the shortest posts I’ve ever done: a photo of my boy milk-drunk and fast asleep, and a link to the brouhaha.

Although I don’t keep an aggregate total of my blogstats, I can say without a doubt that 90% of my non-search engine readers come from that link on Wet Feet. While I’m quite sure that by now the people clicking on that link aren’t interested in The Breastfeeding Boob issue, I’m going to talk about it anyway.

The whole thing highlights one of the more schizophrenic things in American culture. Letters were written to BabyTalk complaining about their children teen boys youth being inappropriately exposed to nudity. Yet these same complaining parents have absolutely no problem with exposure to the soft-core porn that is advertising (and truthfully, the media in general).

Most breastfeeding mothers are EXTREMELY conscious of the amount of skin they’re showing, and make every effort they can to cover up. BUT a trip down the well-trod paths of any shopping mall will reveal larger-than-life posters of photoshopped perfection clad in little more than a string bikini. Why aren’t the anti-nudity police harassing THEM?

I also don’t understand the whole “breastfeeding disgusts me” attitude. Breastmilk tastes a LOT better than formula. Although I haven’t taken a poll of any sort, I’d be more than willing to bet that these same disgusted folks will comment on their filthy (unsanitary) house, their heirloom family recipe that always makes *someone* sick, or how proud they are of their ability to perform … certain sexual acts (and swallow).

To them, I say: You REALLY need to STFU until you know what you’re talking about.