My Bloodied Panties.

panties

Yes, we all bleed.

I am not ashamed of the fact.

I just don’t think it is necessary for me to celebrate it by bleeding all over the place so that other women will feel more powerful. Neither do I particularly want to see other women bleed. I accept other women’s word that they bleed. I don’t need to see their underwear or their bed sheets. I don’t polygraph women I meet so that I can sort my friends into “bleeders” and “non-bleeders” and relegate the “non-bleeders” into the ineffective, powerless women pile.

We read about periods all the way back in the Bible and other texts of the time where it was the practice to have women remove themselves from the other people and go off and live in a tent until their period was over. If the Nasty Bleeder’s Movement (aka the Women’s Movement) had been involved, they would have been angry about them being segregated.  They would have fought for the rights of these women to be able to powerfully bleed anywhere they wanted to, including all over the town, the people and their families. Then there would be no need for all this fuss today because we probably wouldn’t even be here. Blood contains germs that can cause serious infections and while women may have experienced euphoric episodes that could be described as powerful, they probably would have wiped out the rest of their people with some kind of plague.  You know .. the heat, no big box of sanitary pads, not a lot of opportunities to bathe … that kind of thing. BUT you can’t argue that efforts to have women celebrate themselves and assert their right to equality by bleeding everywhere would have been more “fair” to the women. Who likes to have to go to a separate tent for a week or more? That seems pretty cruel. After all, apply the Nasty Bleeder’s Movement primary litmus test to the problem and they have a point. Men don’t have to do it.  Go on, say it with a whine.  It sounds much more realistic that way.  Remember, above all else, all women want everything a man has and more.  We want to bleed publicly. Continue reading

On Line, Everyone Wants Me.

marry me

I get all these invitations from Non-English speaking groups, causes and men.  THESE are the men that want to date/marry me and declare they are in love with me, even when I point out the picture they are looking at is an avatar I use in a virtual reality called Second Life.  I point out,  in the interest of complete disclosure, they should note that not even Barbie is 9 foot tall and has a 3 inch waist.  But the heart wants what the heart wants.  At least I think it is their heart that wants it.

See Ken being anatomically ambiguousmember deficient, penis-less  has left so many of us women without a real sense of what romance is all about.  We are still thinking pink and tulle and a prince that is just an arm accessory that comes out of box when the scene requires it and gets lost once the wedding is over.   We are waiting for our Barbie  Motor and Dream homes because everyone knows Ken is pointless if those aren’t there.   We were all perfectly happy hanging out with Midge, or even Chatty Cathy, even though she was a know it all and over grown.

No-one ever shopped for a Ken to just hang out in your apartment, eat all your cheese and leave his dirty underwear everywhere.   Even Mattel talks about the dress, the motor home and the last little aside is … “Oh ya, and you can add a Ken too.”  It is kind of like watching the whole show on a fabulous vacuum you can buy and right when they think you are about to walk away from the TV they throw in a set of Ginsu steak knives.  No-one really wants or needs the steak knives but hey, a vacuum AND a set of steak knives?  Ok.  Why not.  You can always give the steak knives to someone as gift or even sell them at a garage sale.  Hey, maybe you can even swap them and a box of unopened bologne for some icecream – ok no-one is going to do that but let’s pretend.  I am trying to give Ken value because I desperately want to be seen as being politically correct and caring.   That is how we were taught about men.  You get all the great stuff and they throw in an ambiguously sexually defined Ken.

How did that prepare us for life?   How many of you screamed the first time you saw peen and wanted to know “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT???”  THAT is the results of Mattel playing with our minds and creating unrealistic illusions about what Ken men and life is all about.

How were any of us supposed to be prepared for life?

Ya so anyway, the groups etc.  Men already have so much to make up for and then they show up declaring their love and they are looking at a picture of Bliss the avatar.  She doesn’t look anything like me but she is basically me.  They say they love me and want to marry me and I try really hard to imagine a woman, some woman, ANY woman, anywhere … buying into that and going “YES, YES … let’s pick out our invitations.”

Do I give off that mindless, semi lunatic vibe that makes them think I will want in on that?

And what is with these men/people/groups?  When you send out an invite I assume you are hoping for a positive response.  Don’t you think you should at least know something about the person you are lying to?  Like you don’t invite a blind person to be an art critic?

How can anyone spend a nanosecond with me and not know that I am not the “sit in the back quietly, nodding my head once in awhile” kind of person?   I need my words.  I need a loud voice.  I need to be talking/typing ALLLL the time.  I can’t move those puppets fast enough to act out my every thought and comment.  I am not an angel or something ( see video with evidence of the abilityof angels to move magically and swiftly – study picture of me and then picture of angel – NOT the same person).  Don’t invite me to some Stepford Wives Club where we dress nice and leave our minds at home and play “we are better than everyone else” while we sip wine.

Don’t ask me to join a movement and not have an opinion that may not always agree with yours.

Don’t ever ask me to play angry cats or ducks or penguins.

Please, if you are going to invite me to join a group, take the time to look at my profile and see that I cannot speak your language.  I am language challenged.  I only speak English, some  French, and swear words.  I have lots of tones … but actual other languages … No.   I suck.

You can’t invite me and then go “surprise!  You go sit in the corner, don’t worry what we are talking about and put this machine gun together will you?”

My Barbie lived in a white trailer park.  She has significant limits.

And she hates normal and sheep … Big hater of all sheep like tendencies.  Rules suck too.

I suck at joining.

That is why the whole marriage thing is probably a no go too.

Hey where are you going?

Can we still date?

Or is that a deal breaker?

Damn.

I said too much again, didn’t I??

The Budgie That Never Returned In The Spring, at Least Not To The Prairies.

road kill 2

I wanted a budgie.

I think I wanted one because they came in pretty colours but also because they were not cows.  I had kind of had my fill of cows.  Dairy will do that to you.

Have I ever told you how much I resent the hell out of the fact that when I was growing up no-one talked about being lactose intolerant or needing gluten free everything.  That shit is awesome.  I guarantee some girl locked away somewhere in the deep farm land of Saskatchewan came up with that stuff.  If I had heard of it, I would have read up, become the best lactose intolerant, gluton reactionariest  poster child that ever lived.  I would have got me a note from the doctor excusing me from all things farm and caught the first one horse pony out of there.

But I didn’t have options.  I was stuck.  So I wanted a budgie.   Some kids did drugs to rebel,  I wanted a budgie instead of a cow. Continue reading

Parallel Universes and Peas.

parallel universes

My grandfather got really pissed at the Biffster once because he wasn’t being manly enough to please his old world sensibilities. Mostly he was terrified that the Biff might be “queer.” I mean there were so many clues to justify his concern, like the fact that Biff wasn’t hitching up his jeans, scratching himself or strutting while both horking and spitting. My grandfather was a keen observer of all things life. He didn’t just leap to his conclusions, he defied all gravity and flew across Grand Canyons of expanse to reach them. He was a gifted gifted athlete! Continue reading

Taking the Wonder out of Winter Land.

down the lane the snow is glistening 3

They always make frolicking in the snow look like such fun. People who have never been in snow romanticize it. A good friend does not let another friend erroneously romanticize snow. They just don’t.

I have a friend in Australia who wants to go to Canada because she loves the winter fashions. She gushes when she talks about plaids and the beautiful fur coats. I would slap her but that is not allowed. Continue reading

A Shave and a Hair Cut, Sans the Shave.

jewellery box momento 3

I cut my hubby’s hair last night. I have been doing it for years and it always works out very nicely and he remains handsome and I even get some kudos for the good job.

I was tired. I have a knee that is killing me. It was hot and muggy and the clippers were in my hand and on his head making the second swipe across his skull when I had a flash back to sheep shearing and bald bald sheep baaing on the floor of the shearing shed. Except my hubby was sitting on the edge of the bathtub and no-one was baaaing. Continue reading

Pinda Piper Pinned a Pin. Pinda Piper’s In the Bin!

pinter poke

 

 

Poor Pinda, she had no idea that some pinning is considered a sin, worthy of excommunication from the Church of Pinterest.

I have a suggestion for all the people on Pinterest who are so freaking panicked about other people pinning “their” pins.   Clearly they are beyond distressed about how many pins other peoples repin and so they post all kind of posters warning those people they will be blocked (as in not able to look at or take their pins anymore).  I tried to talk to a couple of them off the ledge and explain the pictures they collect are not really “theirs” (in most instances).   They did not make the item, nor do they own what is shown in the picture. Continue reading