Misbehavior is when you complain about what is requested or expected of you

The libertarians continue to funnel me the weirdest shit on the internet. Sarcastro just sent me the link to that doofus in Iowa who wrote his wife up a list of rules for how she would behave in their marriage.

Little did our friend Sarcastro know that I’ve actually been following this closely, because nothing warms my cold heart more than to watch BSDM-ers complain about how people are always passing judgment on their kinks while at the same time those same BSDM-ers are making broad, sweeping generalizations about how people in Iowa are. Check out this discussion at Metafilter, to see what I mean. Apparently we all know how people from Iowa (which is near Omaha) are, but try to say anything about what a sick fucker this Frey guy is and you’re slandering a whole community.

Is this a BSDM relationship gone bad? Who the fuck knows? I’ll say this, until I read the discussion over at Metafilter, it didn’t occur to me that this was a contract between a Dom and a sub, in part because it says it’s not a contract and in part because it doesn’t outline any of the responsibilities of the Dom.

Instead, it read like all the weird evil bullshit that I faced when I worked at the family crisis center and was sorting through the files or that I heard people telling their minister about. People do a lot of strange and evil shit to each other out there in the middle of nowhere–men who molested three or four generations of neighborhood children; women who burnt their sons’ penises with cigarettes to keep them from masturbating; men who rape everyone in their families; women who rape their daughters with parts of Barbies–as they do everywhere.

I’m just saying, there aren’t a whole lot of people so hard-core into BSDM that they’re drawing up contracts and there are a whole lot of fucked-up evil people who get off on torturing the people who depend on them and so I tend to suspect he’s probably more fucked-up than kinky.

But what really struck me is that, once you get past the initial appalling-ness (and the wondering about how thick his wife’s chest hair must be for him to insist on her shaving it every three days), it’s really boring–more like accounting than fucking. She can do certain things to earn Good Behavior Days (GBDs) and there are elaborate discussions of how to earn them and under what circumstances she can turn them in and what will happen if she’s “non-compliant” and how long she’ll be raped for if she doesn’t have enough GBDs to get her out of it. Much of the rules are centered around a quarter system and she can choose between having her GBDs accounted for on paper or on the computer*.

See? Once you get down to it, it seems really more about the accounting (and the dude’s weird fixation with body hair) and controlling her behavior than anything erotic.

When Sarcastro emailed me about this, he said, “I can’t really do this justice, but I’m sure you can**. Use my link to the wife/whore thing as a tie-in and your Boaz ‘Men are pigs who need women’ as well. Check it out here and prepare to be ill.”

But I think he’s wrong. The article he links to that is really useful to this discussion is not the article on wives v. whores, but the article on academics v. whores***.

Anonymous, pour some wisdom on us.

Calling academics “whores” is a denigration of whoring. It buys into the stereotype that the prostitute is the consummate example of objectification — the idea that he or she is somehow the most objectified person in our society, more object and less person than anyone else.


This condemnation of whores ultimately boils down to the fear and hatred of sex. Our Judeo-Christian society is so ashamed of sex that it has to lock it behind closed doors and swear it to secrecy under the vows of marriage. A woman who transgresses these bounds is frequently called a “whore,” even if she’s not a prostitute. Being a “whore” — either literally or figuratively — is
unacceptable in polite society.

And, most importantly,

But it’s no coincidence that whoredom also poses a serious threat to our society’s limitations of women’s power. Many people want to see whores as victims, because they don’t want us to own our power and embody this threat. Historically the whore has always represented a danger to the patriarchy, because she does not have to depend on any one man for financial support. She makes her living off of many men. This gave her financial freedom in times when women were forbidden to work to support themselves and the wife was her husband’s possession. Dependent on no one man, the whore was no man’s property.

Keeping this in mind, what does this tell us about the situation of Frey’s wife? Or about anything?

Shoot, folks, I’ve got to tell you, I honestly don’t know. Here we’ve got Boaz saying, basically, that men are so hungry for pussy that women can withhold it from them in order to force the men to marry them and thus continually withhold it from them or grant access to it based on how well the men are coming along on with their domestication.

And yet, as Sarcastro’s economists remind us, men don’t always feel bound by marriage to stay faithful to one cooter and, in fact, will often pay other women for access to their cooters, to the point where–as both the economists and Anonymous say–it can make good economic sense for women to choose to become prostitutes instead of getting married, because they can make their own money and not be controlled by any one man (assuming they don’t have pimps).

And then we’ve got Frey with his elaborate pussy economics, with quarterly reports and credits and debits. And need I point out that being married did not domesticate Frey, but instead gave him the courage to act like a bigger asshole?

And last, we have my vagina. (Which, yes, we’re going to talk about again, because it’s the one I know best.) I’ll admit, I’m naive. I’ve never been married and I’ve never been with anyone long enough to get bored with fucking them. Maybe that happens. But I think about what it feels like to have you inside me and to hear you whispering in my ear, your breath against my skin, and I just can’t imagine. I can imagine how a girl might want to do that with everyone she can; but I can’t imagine why she’d still want to be with you and not want to fuck you, just because it’s so nice to fuck you.

And yet, Boaz, the economists, and Frey all seem to assume that a woman’s first motivation for fucking a man is not desire but something that can be reduced to some numbers on a spreadsheet–I fuck you because I want to domesticate you so that you will labor for me or I fuck you because you are a sure and steady stream of income and I’m not sure I could get that as a prostitute or I fuck you to earn GBDs.

What about the fact that I fuck you because I like you and because it feels good to fuck you and I am delighted with you and it tickles me when you’re delighted with me?

Is there room for that? Yes, it’s ephemeral–my desire for you–and, yes, it could fade or change with time.

But what I feel for you is mysterious and awe-inspiring and, sometimes I tremble in the face of it. I want you to feel that for me, too. I don’t want to fuck you as a chore or an obligation. I want to fuck you because I want to, not because I want to exchange my cooter for something from you.

That shouldn’t be such a strange notion.

*I’d hate to be one of the Frey children and come across this file while working on my homework.
**Oh, America, his faith in my blogging abilities is so touching.
***I hope it goes without saying that I’m not advocating that everyone run out and become a prostitute, nor am I saying that prostitution is a completely unproblematic profession to get into, free from guilt and shame and violence and danger. In real life, for most women who do it, being a prostitute sucks. So, we should keep in mind that many women who do it do it because it sucks less than their other options or because they figure that’s an easy way to make quick money to support drug habits and not because they’re striking out against the patriarchy.

Straight Men, Why Do You Put Up with this Nonsense?

I’m so close to being done with the libertarian book that I can almost smell it. Which is good for Mr. Boaz because now he’s reminding me of an old joke.

There’s a new preacher in a church and he’s nervous because it’s his first Sunday but he gets up to the pulpit and he starts in about the sin of dancing, how it leads to lewdness and immoral behavior, and one woman in the back starts in “Amen, Preacher, Amen.”

So, he’s feeling good and he starts in on the sin of drinking and how it leads to lewdness and immoral behavior, and that same woman in the back yells out again, “Preach it, Reverend, preach it!”

And now he’s really feeling it so he switches to the evils of television, with all the sex and violence and immoral behavior and the little old lady in the back turns to the woman next to her and says, “Well, now he’s just meddling.”

This morning, when I got to the point where Boaz was talking about family and marriage, that was pretty much my response–now he’s just meddling.

He makes this claim–that marriage domesticates men–which I find laughable. Not just because I’ve dated enough married men to know that there’s no force on earth that can straighten a jackass out if he’s got it in his heart to be a jackass*, but because in that same chapter he claims that the reason it’s so important for boys to have their fathers present is that fathers domesticate boys.

Well, fuck me, gentlemen. How much domestication do you need? If left to your own devices would you be rooting through my garbage and eating your own poop?



Of all the reasons to support two parent families, domesticating men has got to be the worst reason I’ve ever heard of. What does “domesticating men” even mean?

Let’s just leave aside the weird ideas about women inherent in the notion that girls are powerless to raise boys on their own, but powerful enough to change grown-ass men** into housecats. What kind of weird-ass ideas about men does such a world-view promote?

That men, left to their own devices, are monsters lacking all civility? That, without interference from a specific team of others (the father and the wife of said boy), men cannot help but act shittily?

I mean, really, gentlemen. I am stunned, repeatedly, by how loud and clear the message is in our society–that straight men are monsters who cannot help themselves when they hurt others and it is up to the people they hurt to somehow manipulate them into better behavior–and how unaware of it y’all seem to remain.

Doesn’t this piss you off?

When you look at yourself or your brothers or your sons or your nephews, do you really believe that, at his core, there is someone who would beat his wife or children, or rape a woman, or kill someone if no one stopped him? Do you all really think you are criminals kept in check only by the threat of violence from your father and the fear of being cut off from the vagina of your woman?

Or, I guess the real question is–why doesn’t this assumption piss you off?

*For the record, I do not date married men on purpose. But I’m also going to take you at your word. If you don’t say that you’re married right up front, I’m not going to hire a fucking detective to make sure you’re not misrepresenting yourself. I am not the god damn morality police.
**I cannot say for certain how women might be able to work this little magic trick, but I suspect that, because of Boaz’s hang-up on unmarried teenage girls, we’re supposed to domesticate y’all by refusing to fuck you unless you straighten up (and the first step of getting you to straighten up is to get you to marry us). Whew! Lord knows there’s nothing more fun than a relationship where women dole out sex as a reward for proper behavior and withhold it as punishment. Will a day come when we can build social policy that assumes that straight women actually like to fuck men and aren’t just putting up with it because it’s a way to get them to, say, go to church or mow the lawn or act in a respectable fashion?

Chef Yang’s

I think that’s the name of it. It’s this crazy Chinese buffet in Murfreesboro where you can get great Chinese food and pizza and fried shrimp and hardpacked ice cream and it’s all delicious and it’s only like six bucks for lunch.

I tried to discern if Rex L. Camino or Kleinheider were dining with us, but, since we were in the non-smoking section, it was just us and the kids. So, unless Mr.s Camino and Kleinheider are secretly babies, we did not see them.

The Butcher drove my down to my thing and I felt bad because when we got there, it was obvious that there was no need for us to be there. So, we hung out for a little bit and the Butcher and I cracked each other up and once we’d made sure a couple of people had seen us and could attest that we did indeed actually make it there, we left.

I’m still taking Monday off, though.

Then the Professor and I went to buy something for me to wear at The Vagina Monologues. I’ll be wearing all black–I bought this awesome shirt with all these tiny buttons up the front–and then we spent a good hour in Dillard’s picking out these fabulous orange necklaces to layer up and wear. The Professor thinks I’ll look very witchy.

I hope so.

It’s funny. Sometimes you stand in front of mirrors in dressing rooms and you think, “My god, that is one hideous thing to look at.” Today, I was like, “Yeah, I guess I’m cute, in a Hummel-type of way.” I mentioned it to the Professor, but I don’t think she knows what Hummels are.

My Grandma’s Noodles

The recalcitrant brother called me up and asked me for my grandma’s noodle recipe. I have it written on a slip of paper stuffed into my childhood Bible, which, surprise, I cannot find.

So, I said, I think it’s a cup of flour, an egg, and some salt.

My dad found it written down someplace at their house and here is the actual recipe.

2 eggs
1 cup of flour
2 teaspoons of salt.

You make the flour and salt into a volcano shape and put the eggs in the middle and then work in all the flour you can until the mixture is stiff, but still workable. Then you roll it out on a well-floured surface, flouring to keep it from sticking, until the dough is 1/8 of an inch thick. You let it dry for two hours and then cut it into strips for noodles.

My grandma would cook a pot roast in a dutch oven on the stove and then cook the noodles in the juice of the pot roast while she cut the roast into chunks. Then, everything would go back in the pot in this tasty starchy mess.

I’m going to walk the recalcitrant brother through the process tomorrow.

The Underpants, Revisited

I wanted to say, but forgot, that there’s this really nice moment in The Underpants where the king makes everyone stay bowed to him for a really, really long time. It’s a simple thing, but it lets you know that, unlike most of the characters in the play, the king is used to getting his way.

Also, Rachel Agee is hilarious.