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August AtoZ: War on Women
I am a woman. This means, automatically, without even having met you, it’s assumed I am hormonal. This is true, of course, as I can indeed be hormonal. But it’s kind of not fair, because even before I open my mouth, if you’re a complete douche, you might already just disregard anything I say.
But let’s be honest. If you’re a douche, you aren’t reading this here bloggy-blog, because you have more douche-y things to do than wonder what Andi-Roo has to say about you.
So this one goes out to all the non-douche-y readers out there, the ones who will give me a chance, in spite of the fact that my words may or may not be inspired by my hormones. Thank you, non-douche-y readers. I applaud your generosity.
But still. As a woman, it pretty much sucks to know that there are so many douches outside my circle who won’t give me a chance. And that’s just the beginning.
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Let’s talk about vaginas.
I know, I know. Last time I did this, I got tomatoes thrown all over my face.
First, my word processor refuses to recognize the term in its plural state, as if to say that there is only ever one vag. And, yes, I could add it to the dictionary so that fucking squiggly, red line doesn’t keep popping up every time I try to talk about vaginas PLURAL, but really? I don’t think I should have to. And it kind of goes along with what I’m saying. This program was so obviously created by a man, because only a dude would consider pussy in terms of the singular. Dumb-dumbs.
Second, it was pointed out by some VERY non-douche-y readers that the term “vagina” sounds like a terminal state of being, like a disease. You know, like, “I’ve got a bad case of ‘vagina’ so I won’t be able to come in to work today.” I tend to agree, now that it’s been pointed out. But alas, I’m trying to be clinical since the last time I used a euphemism like “who-who”, I was accused of being three. So I’d rather err on the side of scientific correct-ness than be further dismissed as a moron. I’m already a human begin with hormones working against me.
Okay, so vaginas. Apparently there is a huge argument over them, and I’m being invaded by an opposing force. At least, that’s how I define a war. The opposing force seems to care an awful lot — more so than I, truth be told — about what is happening in my vag. Which is strange, for two reasons.
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One: The opposing force is mostly Christian, which doesn’t mix with the idea of war, given that Christians are supposed to be Christ-loving forgivers of sin. Jesus was about love and hugs and feeding the poor, not going to war, and certainly not war against my vagina.
Two: The opposing force, again, being mostly Christian, is supposed to be clean and pure and not interested in overly sexual kinds of things. They are supposed to be the prudes. They are supposed to be THE OPPOSITE of thinking about my vag.
So the Christians are confused, and don’t understand their own platform very well. Which I, in turn, likewise find confusing. I don’t want to be at war, and I don’t want to have to think about my crotch all the fucking time. I wonder if the Christians would mind stepping off my vagina? I’m guessing, no, they would indeed mind stepping off my vagina. Otherwise, we could find peace and I could move away from what’s happening in my sexual hot spots.
So there’s this whole sex thing, how often I’m allowed to have it, with whom, in what positions, and with what devices. I know, I’m bordering on WAY TOO OVER THE LINE here. I’m right with you. But these are the things the war is about.
I mean, if I want to have sex 500-krillion times, that makes me ineligible to be a decent human being. If I like anal, that too makes me an evil human. Turns out, for the record, that I DO NOT in fact like anal, but I’d never tell someone else to stop if that’s what makes them happy. You know why? Because I don’t care about their junk and what their junk is doing.
I’m assuming what’s happening is consensual, of course, because rape is another matter entirely, which I have already covered.
If I’m with a guy, it’s okay, unless it’s more than one guy, and then it’s a no-go. And never shall I be allowed to be with a chick. Because it matters to them. It matters to them an awful lot. I still don’t understand WHY it matters to them whether or not I’m with a female partner instead of a male partner. I still don’t see how it changes the fact that they still have to buy groceries, pay bills, and wipe after a good solid duke.
Seriously — think about this — does me kissing a girl stop you from pooping? Or paying for electricity? Or buying Mary Kay products? Because, if yes, I want to know HOW. I find pooping to be a huge time-suck which could be better spent doing fun things with my hubz.
This war is stupid. You can’t possibly think you can legislate my vagina’s activities. My vag is free to be as sexual as it pleases, with whomever it pleases, in whatever fashion it pleases.
And also? That whole, “You’re a woman and might be sick more often and plus you can get preggers and have a krillion babies which means medical leave so I’m going to pay you less”… that is ass-backwards thinking. I mean, yeah, it might logically be true, in the sense that we have a lot more shit going on than the average man. But still… you’re only thinking through PART of the issue. Typical men.
If Corporate America took better care of its ladies, they would be creating the WORLD’S BIGGEST CUSTOMER BASE. Hey, dumb-dumbs — who do you think are the biggest shoppers? It ain’t the guys.
Who do you think gives the best word of mouth, free publicity — or vice versa, the best word of mouth, free “avoid this company like the plague!”? It ain’t the guys.
Who do you think makes the shopping decisions in most homes?
Who do you think REALLY wears the pants?
It’s the WOMEN. You should be paying them AWESOME amounts of money. You should be GRATEFUL women choose to include you in their overly-taxed skadoolies. You should be BEGGING women to come work for you. Hormones and all.
We are the caretakers of the world. We make the thing GO BOOM. We bring the feelings and the customer satisfaction and the mothering and the ability to see things hiding behind the fucking milk on the top shelf of the fridge.
To summarize: Stop worrying so much about my goddamn vagina, and start thinking about increasing wages for women. I promise, you’ll love what happens.
War on Women? Pffft. You douche-bags are shooting yourselves in the foot.
AtoZ August 2012 — A Month of Controversy
Throughout the money of August 2012, my dear friend Aaron @dadblunders and I are doing a dry run of the Blogging From A to Z Challenge. This past April was my first official participation in such activity, and I had no idea what I was doing. No theme, no forethought, purely spur-of-the-moment. This time around, I have a plan. Join the fun!
For this event, I am engaging in a month of controversy. Consider yourself forewarned.