someone accuses me of being an irrational woman- I am so pulling out these quiz results.

(I couldn’t help but choose the rocket launcher answer even if the rational part of my brain was screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)

The housing bubble bursts.

Totally predictable- the puppet heads on TV don’t blame reckless lending practices or the lovely shell game of packaging mortgages so they look lower risk than they actually are, they blame poor people.

Poor people who want to own their own home. Poor people who are doing what they have been told to do all their lives. Work hard, save money, invest in a house because it’s the safest, most useful place you can put your money. People who are following the American Dream line that has been force fed to us all. But it’s those damn poor people who can’t qualify for traditional mortgages that are responsible for the current mess.

Fuck that. If Alan Fucking-I love Ayn Rand- Magic Fixer of the Economy- Greenspan could not predict this bubble bursting- then neither could all those people who don’t have fancy degrees in economics or haven’t spent their entire careers analyzing how money works.

Though I will say this- all those talking puppet heads on TV may finally make it really clear to the rest of us that the American Dream of the white picket fence was never intended for everybody but it was intended to make us work our asses off and not blame the power elite when all that work doesn’t pay off.

Than again, maybe we’ll be too busy watching the latest edition of Dancing with the Stars to care.

Meh.

So my birthday isn’t for another 6 months, but I love planning a trip almost as much as I love taking one. SO I have 6 months of happy, joyful planning ahead of me! Yippee!

I have been to France before, but not Paris. (I know – how does one go to France and skip Paris? I went to the French Riviera- that’s how).

I plan on parking my ass in the Louvre for a few days with a sketchbook unless the Louvre is cool and let’s you take no-flash photos. Anyone know their photo policy? Any other must-see museums? (I know there are many- I’m looking for recommendations).

I am also wondering which neighborhood is best to stay in. I like being able to walk everywhere. In Rome I stayed in the Piazza Repubblica which ended up being easy walking distance to everything but the Vatican. I’d love to find a spot like that in Paris.

Suggestions, fun travel stories, etc. are always welcome.

The Red Queen sandwiched between her friends Amanda Panda and Ms. J. For the record, nearly every picture of Ms. J and me has her making smoochy lips at me.

I’ve been musing over the nature of compliments versus harassment lately. The two lovely ladies with me in the photo above have given me some insight based on incidents that have happened over the course of several drunken pub crawls in Belltown. We came to the conclusion last night (after drinking many red stripes and coming up with the new name of a coffee drink shot full of vanilla stoli and goldschlager- the stolengolencofffee!) that it is a matter of payment.

Lemme splain. A few weeks ago we were at the same bar when we were followed, harassed and pestered by this one guy. He took turns “complimenting” each of us, trying to see which one of us had self esteem so low that we would trade a few comments about our looks with the removal of our panties. Some of his words were just obvious BS about how important he was. You know, typical drunken cock swagger and a bunch of big fat lies about where he was from – South Africa, Jamaica, Ethiopia, he was a US Marine in Iraq, he was from New York. Blah blah blah.

Now let me get to the line that cemented the difference for me between a real compliment and creepiness- “You’re beautiful”. (Pauses for many moments to figure out how to write the next bit without sounding like a super conceited piece of shit………)

I get told this alot. I am not, by any means, conventionally attractive. I am a big, curvy girl. I look nothing like what beautiful is “supposed” to look like. Yet, on a fairly regular basis random strangers will tell me I am beautiful. Sometimes it is a genuine compliment and I take it as such with a thank you, but the guy at the bar was not doing that.

What the guy at the bar was doing was almost the reverse version of a neg- pick a girl whom you assume does not get a lot of compliments and try to buy her favor. I’ve been trying to figure out specifically for weeks what the difference is between a creep and not-a-creep and how it is that we know the difference without being able to explain it beyond “he was creepy”. I think it lies in whether the compliment is genuinely given or whether it is given with the expectation of payment.

More examples, cause I like them. Women can give these kinds of compliments all the time to each other. Last night I told the girl sitting at the table next to us that she had the most beautiful curly hair. Ms. J oohed and awwed over another woman’s fabulous boots. I did not expect anything from the girl with the gorgeous hair, I just wanted to tell her I thought it was awesome. Ms. J did want to check out the woman’s boots, but only if the other woman wanted to show them off. There was no expectation that since Ms. J had given her a compliment the woman then had to hand over her leg so that Ms. J could get what she wanted. Ms. J did ask if she could touch them (they were this very tactile looking patchwork that could have been leather or fabric) and the woman let her. Had the woman said no, Ms. J would not have felt like she had paid out a compliment for no gain.

One more example. In a cab on the way to work the other day I struck up a lovely conversation with the driver. I live in a neighborhood with a large number of Ethiopian immigrants (yay- this means I also have many yummy Ethiopian restaurants within walking distance) and a lot of the cab drivers are Ethiopian. The driver and I were talking about kids and marriage. He’s 40ish, married late in life according to his culture, and has 2 kids. He was shocked that I was only 32 and had a 12 year old and wasn’t married (more shocked by my age than by the not married part I think). Then he broke out with the “You are a beautiful girl” but not as a cheesy come on. Actually he was very explicit that he was not trying to pick me up. He was merely trying to explain that if I was as beautiful at 20 as I am now that some of the Kid’s dad’s idiocy might be explained by raging hormones (there’s only a slightly different argument to be made that a beautiful girl is the reason a boy acts like an ass- but that’s for another time). Anyways, his compliment was nice and part of the conversation without being a payment for some future favor.

So there it is. 2 guys. Nearly identical words. Neither of them do I have any romantic interest in. It really comes down to the basic feminist idea of ownership of ones own body. The creep assumed that he could buy control over my body by paying me compliments on my looks. The cab driver just gave me a compliment. The creep assumes that women’s control over their own bodies is something that can be sold away (and if it can be sold it can also be stolen). I know none of this is really groundbreaking news, but it does help to clarify why behavior that seems exactly the same has radically different results in the way we feel about it.

Last weekend I went as the faux-lesbian date of a friend to a wedding. I do the faux-lesbian wedding thing more often than you think. I’m a riot at a party and for some reason women are under the mistaken opinion that attending a formal social function put on by people that are not strangers by yourself is the hight of shame. Wev. I’m just there for the free booze.

So the wedding last Saturday was the big production deal that most people associate with a bridezilla personality. Except- it wasn’t at all what the bride wanted. The bride, a very low key, funny girl, wanted to elope to Hawaii. It was the groom that wanted the production. The bride didn’t get the wedding she wanted, but she loves the guy. She didn’t get the dress she wanted, but she loves the guy. She didn’t get much of anything that she wanted, but you get the idea.

As soon as the big production vows were over, the in laws started asking about kids. The bride joked about how maybe she wouldn’t be working for long- she’d just spit out a few kids and stay at home. Funny thing is, she doesn’t want kids. At all. She wants horses instead.

I also spent alot of quality time with the bride’s new sister-in-laws. All of them have several children and a strained quality to them. One of them, whose oldest daughter is the same age as the Kid, and I were having a good talk about parenting. It was one of those moments where the cracks in the shiny mommy veneer show and you can say that sometimes you don’t like being a mom very much or that sometimes you’re not as good to your kids as you should be. I prefer those talks to the “greatest thing I’ve done with my life” talks because we all know that is what we’re programmed to say.

Whenever I have these conversations with married moms (or even a lot of child-free people) it goes the same way.

Other Person: Wow, you have a 12 year old! You must have been really young.
Me: I had him a week before my 20th birthday.
OP: Is his dad involved?
Me: No, we were engaged until I found out I was pregnant. I decided I wanted the baby but not the marriage.
OP: That must be so tough to do it on your own.
Me: Not really, I prefer being the only one in charge. I don’t share authority well. (Let me clarify this remark- parenting is hard, but it is easier for me to do it on my own than to play nurse-mommy-maid-whore to a grown up boy while being mommy to a child).

So my conversation with the sister in law went almost word for word the same way, except when I mentioned not marrying Kid’s dad. She was awed for a second, and said “That’s amazing that you knew at that age not to get married”. Now, I must admit that I knew she’s been having marriage problems before I met her (people tell me shit) so it was a little telling in the kinds of questions she asked me that she’s been considering divorce. I was honest. And we were both pretty open about how hard having kids is to begin with. (Pre-teens and teens are rough phases for kids that will try the best parent’s patience- dirty secret is that though we love our children more than you can imagine, we don’t really like them much for awhile).

So imagine my surprise when 2 minutes later the bride asks if having kids is hard and the same woman says “You don’t even notice it”.

You.Don’t.Even. Notice. It. WTF!

My head was about to explode. Why do we feel the need to lie to people about the joys of parenthood? Trust me, you notice it.

When you haven’t slept in six months and your nipples are constantly sore- you notice it.

When yet another diaper has exploded with toxic poop all over your last clean shirt- you notice it.

When you’ve nearly lost your mind because you pre-schooler WILL NOT PUT ON HIS SHOES and you’re late for work (again)- you notice it.

When you’re sitting in another parent- teacher conference in a tiny chair with the full knowledge that an imbecile is teaching your child nothing and you will have to make up the difference for 6 hours every night – you notice it.

When you’ve repeated the phrase “Do your homework” so many times that you can’t remember if you can say anything else- you notice it.

Parenting is hard work. It’s drudgery most days. And you notice every minute of it. You shouldn’t be a parent unless you absolutely want to. And we shouldn’t keep lying to women about how joyful it is. It has it’s moments, but

I know, as far as blog post go I have been lax, lax lax.

And until Fall Quarter starts in late September, you can bet your sweet ass that posting will continue to be lax. I am doing a full time temp gig that will take me right up to the first day of classes if all goes well. I am soooooo happy for the money (I make more temping in 2 days than I make in an entire week working as the unappreciated wal-mart style employee of a public community college) but it is a lifesucking, mind numbing, drain on my creative facilities to have to dress in grown-up clothes and shoes (ouch) everyday and be “professional”.

Don’t get me wrong, the people that I am temping with are awesome and had me laughing till tears came out the other day. I had to pull a Tammy Faye check and make sure my very grown-up mascara wasn’t making a run for the border. I have a fish who lives on my desk that I sing to (any Red Dwarf fans would recognize the “I’m gonna getcha little fishy” song as Cat’s favorite way to start a meal) but I do not have enough time to read, and without input my brain can’t spit out any of the witty commentary that the few people who read this blog have come to expect. (For those of you searching for Nancy Pelosi’s hot breasts or Miss Indiana Wet Panties, you probably weren’t going to find what you were looking for anyways).

I will do my best to post occasionally, but much like the relative who has sworn to turn over a new leaf after his 3rd stint in rehab and 4th DUI, don’t expect much.

In the mean time, the Monkey, aka the Kid, has returned from his sojourn in the South and has brought me presents of chocolate covered cherries and Memphis style barbque sauce. We be making ribs tonight! I know he was only gone 3 weeks, but I think he got taller. He now wears a larger shoe size than me and is only a few (4 max- 2 or 3 more likely) inches shorter than his dear mom. Oh noes! Soon he’ll be too tall for me to noogie him in a futile attempt to create a bald spot (between my mountains of hair and his dad’s shaggy, shaggy mane, the Kid could be science’s best shot at curing male pattern baldness).

Contemplate that until I can return to my regularly scheduled program of harassing students and reading every damn thing that has ever been posted to the internets.

Every now and then some giant asshat will come along and decided to post some vicious, violent, misogynistic comment on an old post. I think that it is good to bring the asshats into the light and show the world how incredibly awful they are.

The other day- anonymous asshat decide to post 3 incoherent, ignorant, and disgusting comments on three old posts.

First, on a funny little thing about what I’ve learned from reading online dating profiles asshat replies

Earle,

I find that fat, ugly women are often as predatory about sex as men. Could it be that once women stop getting laid that they don’t accept it any more than the men do?

Doesn’t judging men on your perception of their sexual prowess encourage the very “conquest mentality” you supposedly don’t want us to have?

Now ask why, in 2007, you want to learn about players, pickup artists, and NLP seduction, when this stuff has been on the net since 1996 and before? Are you a mindless sheep who needs the media to tell her what to read?

I don’t know who Earle is. I don’t mention men’s sexual prowess anywhere in the post. I don’t think he has any sort of reading comprehension because he mentions stuff from Scarred’s PUA site. Do you think he realizes that there is more than one feminst blogger out there- or does he think that by commenting here for some other site that the feminist bat signal will go out and we’ll all come running on our fat, hairy, man-hating legs?

Next, from a post on the icky look-up thing that gross guys do

Earle,

Another way women are treated as objects instead of people is to get hired for jobs because they look pretty.

Is it safe to say that women don’t fight this because the price is right?

Do ugly and fat women count? They get hurt too.

Again- who is this Earle? Does Earl have magic, invisible powers of commenting that I cannot see? How does women getting hired for their looks have anything to do with guys blocking me from walking or whatever so they can take a mental jack-off pic? Does he hate fat and ugly women or does he want them to count too? If there was ever proof that the patriarchy hurts men too, I would say that asshat shows it. He clearly never developed critical thinking skills or the ability to communicate intelligently.

But that is nothing compared to asshat’s last comment. See, I wrote a little thing on What men can do to stop rape. We women have been trying to stop rape since, oh before recorded history. Asshat thinks that men not raping women would interfere with men’s job prospects. I never knew that rape could be a great networking exercise.

Yeah, men are supposed to cut off their access to other men, jobs, friends, etc. to “do the right thing.”

Then, the men are supposed to watch women reject them due to their lower social and economic standing, and run to the rapists because they’re life’s “winners.”

Do you really think any jock is going to be annoyed by anything that repels old, ugly feminists and attracts athletic, young, very attractive women?

What.The.Fuck? Women “run to the rapists because they are life’s ‘winners’? Seriously asshat, put down the bong, stop using Grand Theft Auto as the basis for all your social commentary, and work on developing the muscle between your ears instead of the muscles in your right hand.

If this is an example of the kind of outstanding male jock specimens that the patriarchy is offering up- how do we continue to have a birthrate at all. Even this guy’s mother must regret her decision to “choose life” in this case. I know that just reading his comments made my ovaries shrivel up in fear.

(On a much more positive note, I just got home from a fab date with a liberal boy who has the most fantastic pecs and is a hell of a kisser. The pecs, OMG, I wanted to rip his shirt off right there in parking lot. And the kissing, I’m a damn fine kisser (have been told by more than a few people that I am the best;) and this boy, well, he might put me to shame in the best possible way)

I started a new temp job this week which will hopefully take me right up to the day that school starts in late September. I am sooooooo happy for the money (OMG! I make as much in 2 days as I normally make in a whole week!) But my internet time is drastically reduced. No blog readin’, writtin’ or commentin’ during most of the week.

Anyways, I wanted to write about Scooter Libby and the thwarted UK bombings. These things may not seem related, but they are. Let’s connect the dots, shall we…….

Stopping terrorist acts is a job best left to police and intelligence agents- not military intervention. This is true for the current situation in Scotland. Was true when Al Q