Sunday Night Still Lingers

I just hurried to take the trash out before it got dark. Yes, I’m still bothered.

Can we just revisit my shitty Sunday night full of dread and fear? As you may recall, some animal was bothering the garbage cans right outside my window and I extrapolated from that that I was about to be murdered by killer hobos.

I should let this go, but I can’t, because I think, in part, it reveals that I’m a bad feminist. Which really sucks, because my definition of a good feminist is basically “Don’t wait around hoping to be rescued by big strong men, even if they are cute and armed. Take care of your damn self.”

Y’all, I just want one thing right now. I want, when faced with something that scares the shit out of me, to think “Holy shit, things are really frightening, but I know just what to do. I’m going to kick that thing’s ass.” And that can be a real or metaphorical ass-kicking, either way.

The thing is that I already feel grossly incompetent. And I know everyone feels grossly incompetent at times, so that’s fine, but I feel grossly incompetent and like the only grown-up in my household. Which is also fine. I made some choices; I let some shit get to points it shouldn’t have gotten to; life goes on. I’m not complaining; I’m just saying.

Like it or not, I’m the person who has to take care of shit, because if there’s not one grown-up in the house, there won’t be power or cable or food or even one god-damn car so that people can get to work.

The head of a household made up of one person who can’t even stay by herself for four nights before she’s huddled up under her covers like the comforter is going to provide her with magic protection against knife-wielding railway killers and one ne’er-do-well who can’t be bothered to keep a car or a job for any longer than the moment it ceases to be fun and three other mammals who need to eat and shit and occasionally go to the doctor needs to be strong and together. She should probably be working to increase her net worth.

Instead, it’s just me, who can’t even figure out what the fuck to do when something’s in her trash.

On the other hand, I’d like for just five seconds to stop being so god damned Midwestern. “Oh, I didn’t want to bother anyone.” “It’s no trouble, I’ll just live with it.” Y’all my grandma went around for twenty years with her uterus partially hanging into her vagina because she didn’t want to trouble the doctor.

Is that what I want? To never be able to ask for help when I need it because I don’t want to bother anyone?

Well, yeah, kind of. It’s a whole lot easier to just count on yourself, instead of letting others take care of you a little bit. They don’t cover this kind of stuff at our radical feminist man-hating, baby-killing, lesbian witch coven meetings, so I’m kind of at a loss.

It’s really fucked up how much I depend on the Butcher for my emotional well-being and how little I trust him to do right by the household. And the fucking dog thing is still bothering me, which is the same damn issue. It’s not that the dog cannot stay here while we’re at my cousin’s wedding–my god, I’m tired of hearing me talk about it, and yet here I go again–it’s that I trust the Professor to take care of my emotional well-being and yet I’m completely unsettled about letting her take care of my dog, who has, as we all know, come to embody half of my world.

My god, if I had to leave my car and Mrs. Wigglebottom in someone’s care for the day, I’d need a fucking therapist.

And it’s not that the Professor is untrustworthy. The woman is one of the most-trustworthy people on the planet. I trust her with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.

It’s that I am being a total idiot about this shit.

My god. Did I have a point? A fucking hour ago, I started out to say something about feeling like a bad feminist and from there we’ve gotten to me admitting an overdependance on the well-being of my dog and car and my inability to negotiate regular human interaction without selling the people that I care about short.

God damn. I wish this had been more of a post about me wishing I knew how to kick someone in the face and wanting to discover inner strength and wisdom and all that inspirational feminist bullshit you’ve come to love. But somehow, we never got there.

Celebrity Gossip and other Sitemeter Gems

Judging from the searches that bring people here, an overwhelming number of internet users are curious about hermaphrodite porn. A smaller number want “aunt fucking nephew” or “tiny girl sex.”

“Tiny girl sex” searchers, yuck. A pox on you.

But, my friends, ever since Kenny Chesney announced he was getting divorced, I’ve been getting at least one hit a day from folks looking for information on the Kenny Chesney/Payton Manning affair. Unfortunately, I know next to nothing about such an affair.

However, if there were, say, artistic nude shots of said affair, I’d be happy to view them. You know, for the sake of science.


So, I talked to the littlest nephew on the phone this afternoon. Here’s the gist of our conversation:

Him: “Where’s [Mrs. Wigglebottom]?”

Me: “At home.”

Him: “What she doing?”

Me: “Taking a nap.”

Him: “Why she taking a nap?”

Me: “Because she’s tired.”

Him: “[Mrs. Wigglebottom’s] in Nashville.”

Me: “Yes. What are you doing?”


Me: “Hey, what are you doing?”

My dad (in the background): “It’s so obvious that the Democratic party is going to continue to fuck up every opportunity…”

The Butcher (also in the background): “They could not make a turd out of chewed food.”

Nephew: “Hey, Grandpa! I’m pretending to not talk on the phone.”

My dad: “What?”

Nephew: “Look, I’m pretending to not talk on the phone.”

My dad: “Give me the phone.”

Nephew: “No, I’m playing with Aunt B.”

In Which I Explain the World to White Men

I want to start by saying that it occurred to me this morning that Kleinheider and I, if both given our wishes for the world, would probably live in very similar small villages. Outsiders who didn’t look too closely would see little differences. And in B-ville, Kleinheider would be slang for a sex act involving gin and an open flame. In Kleinheiderton, an Aunt B. would be a delicious flaky pastry that the Kleinheidertonians ritually spit on once a year.

At both our village meetings, we would spend an inordinate amount of time plotting each other’s downfall: “Marry her off at gun-point!” “Punch him in the face!” I’m just saying, you’re welcome to visit each village, but I wouldn’t stand in the space between them.

Part of what infuriates me so much about Kleinheider is that I often feel like he and I see the landscape very similarly and yet come up with entirely different ideas about what it is we’re seeing.

Let’s take his recent post on the poor put-upon white man. For those of you who don’t want to follow the link, let me summarize: blah, blah, blah, you want to see who has it really bad? Poor white men, blah, blah, blah. There it is, tossed out there, like it’s a known fact.

But why do poor white men have it so bad? Is it the fault of the Black Caucus or Hollywood or radical feminists or godless commie heathens or homosexuals? Is rap music keeping the poor white man down?

White men, today I’m going to explain to you how things work.

Democracy is a joke. It’s the best joke we can come up with for governing a large body of disparate peoples, but it is a joke. It doesn’t work because most people don’t want to govern themselves; they want someone to tell them what to do.

Which is fine, because the people in power want to stay in power. Democrats, Republicans, whatever. At the end of the day, they want to stay in power.

We have, in this country, a power structure based on race, class, and gender disparities. It doesn’t mean that the people in power are inherently racist, classist, and sexist–though it doesn’t mean they are not–it just means that they use racism, classism, and sexism to remain in power.

Who has power in our country? By and large, rich white men.

But, rich white men are a small minority of the actual people in this country. Most people are poor, many people are non-white, and most people are women. So, how, in a democracy, can a small minority of people retain power?

They must keep the majority of people distracted.

Now, the majority of people in this country aren’t stupid. They see that rich white men are in power.

And here’s where the most important and insidious superstition we have comes into play. We say that we’re a meritocracy, that anyone, regardless of where they start out in life, can raise themselves up in the world and “be” someone. It’s important that we continue to believe this because it serves an important purpose: it camouflages the real class disparity among white people.

Camouflaging the class disparity within the “white” group serves many, many important purposes.

1. It distracts us from seeing the ways in which race, gender, and class feed into each other. If you feel like The Man has been holding you down and you don’t recognize the class component to that, why should it bother you if poor white people are suffering? At least some white people are suffering.

2. It keeps poor people fighting among themselves, rather than banding together in common interest against the powerful.

3. It distracts poor white men from seeing their real power.

Three is the hardest to understand, so let me dwell on it a minute.

As I said, we have a power structure that thrives on exploiting class, race, and gender differences so that the powerful can retain power. Racial differences are visible. Gender differences are visible.

There will have to be RADICAL change in this country for women and minorities to achieve real power and not just continue to be let imitate the rich white men who are really in control.

But white guys look like white guys. If you look at Bob Krumm or Bill Frist, can you tell just by looking who has more money? Who’s the person in power?

Just by looking, how can you say?

And that, my friends, is the real, insidious threat to the people in power. It’s not the folks they can see coming–women or minorities–they can thwart us. It’s the people who look just like them, but who don’t belong.

So, white guys, of course you feel persecuted. Of course you feel like the deck is stacked against you. Of course you feel like you’re bearing the brunt of a lot of harsh winds. You are! You are so that the people really in power don’t have to.

And you are so that the people in power can keep you distracted, keep you down here fighting with us and fighting us off, so that you’re never really a real threat to the people who have and want to keep power.

UFC on Spike TV

Ultimate fighting is taking professional wrestling’s place on Spike. The gloves irritate me. And I wonder whatever happened to Tank Abbott, who is the only UFC dude I’ve ever heard of. The pacing is off and they spend so much time on the interviews that I’ve been watching an hour and only seen two fights.

But the fights themselves are interesting to watch. At first, the fighters stand up and throw some punches and kicks. Then, there’s some kind of quick bob and dodge and all of a sudden they’re twisted up on top of each other and one is forcing the other’s face into the fence. They squeeze each other for a while and then, wham, someone’s choking someone unconscious.

For having such a bad reputation, it’s actually a surprisingly non-violent thing to watch.

So, while it’s promising, I think they’ve got some shit to fix. Things have to move along more quickly if they want to hold folks’ attention. They could take a lesson from professional wrestling in that regard. And, if they’re going to spend so long between matches, they could do more to cue us uniformed viewers in to the strategy behind things.

And there’s something weird about watching two men trying to annihilate each other without purposefully hitting each other below the belt.

This is something I’ve never understood. Fighting–like war–is an utter breakdown in the social order. How do you put rules on that? If you’re playing by rules, isn’t that an indication that the social order hasn’t broken down enough to justify the violence in the first place?

So, take the gloves off, boys.