Tag: equality

The Mommy Paradigm

MissM5 Comments

The other day, i’d sparked yet another heated discussion on my FaceBook status. We were discussing gender roles, primarily, and who should take on the role of the primary care giver. One of my friends said that he believed that women shouldn’t be limited to being “just a mother.”

When a woman describes herself as “just a mom,” I find that completely problematic. You see, when individuals who have careers are describing their occupations, they rarely say, “I’m just a salesman,” or “I’m just a doctor.” Though not equal in compensation, each of these occupations is as equally demanding and deserving of equal recognition.

Though I, too, agree that a woman should not be limited to the role of the homemaker, I don’t believe that any woman is wrong for choosing to do so. People seem to forget that feminism is all about choice. The whole issue is that women are taking on this task by default, rather than choice. Both genders are sliding into their predetermined roles without really considering what would fulfill them the most and bring them the most satisfaction out of life.

Aside from the fact that being a mother requires a 168-hour workweek, (that’s 24/7, for mathematically impaired individuals) mothers, as well as stay-at-home fathers (which, frankly, there could be more of) are burdened with an immense task of influencing the direction and values of our future. And no, they don’t have a bi-monthly paycheck that keeps them motivated to maintain their quality of work. They get tantrums, messes, and chronic fatigue.

Though I don’t believe that a woman should, by default, become her children’s primary caregiver; I think that those women who do dedicate their lives to the raising of children should start giving themselves the recognition they deserve. Trust me, all the stay-at-home daddies are getting ample extrinsic recognition, because it defies the norm.

Which brings me to my second issue of the “mommy” paradigm. When it comes to occupation, how is a girl to win? You see, if she chooses to remain in the workforce, with or without children, she will have the label of “selfishness” slapped on her forehead, and will be looked upon disapprovingly. Conversely, if she stays home with the kids, she’s “just a mom.” Seems a little unfair, doesn’t it? Welcome to the patriarchy, my friends.

The stereotypical gender roles provide a blanket solution to a very individualistic problem. Not only should the parent who is most suited to raise the children take on the role of the primary caregiver, but a couple should also consider who would be most fulfilled in that role. I think that if we evaluated those two criteria before assigning roles, we’d be surprised by how many bread-winning moms and stay-at-home dads would result.

Just a thought.

M.

Primitive

MissM38 Comments

I thought i’d humor myself this semester by enrolling in a “Marriage as an Internal Process” course. The entire focus of the class is to stress the importance and benefits of the institution of marriage, and to help all of us suckers figure out what we can and cannot demand from a spouse. It’s been fun, for lack of a better word.

My class has quite the diversity of students. One girl is a single mom, we have three newly-wedded hubbies in the house, a handful of us single people hoping to learn how to change that via this course, and a handful of married women. On the first day of class, we were assigned to break up into small groups and discuss why we thought divorce happens, and why people  choose not to get married. Some of the responses that were given literally caused my head to explode across the four walls of the classroom.

My favorite response? A perhaps twenty-five-year-old wife raised her wedding-banded hand and said in a negative tone, “I think that the cause of divorce can in large part be due to women’s rights.” *Clank!* That was my jaw hitting the floor. Psycho say what?

Let’s dissect this bone-headed comment for a moment. This woman blames the accumulation of human rights for a specific gender as being the culprit for tearing a marriage apart. May I remind everyone that there has to be a cause for a woman to want a divorce, and that there was a time when if a woman was being abused by her husband, she just had to shut up and deal with it and make sure she had dinner ready on time tomorrow to avoid another abuse?

I refuse to see women’s rights as the cause for ANY negative outcomes. Women should have had the right from the beginning of whenever marriage became a thing to back out of it for any time and for any reason, ESPECIALLY if that reason is due to abuse or unfair treatment by her spouse. End of story.

Today in class, we watched a documentary on mail-order brides. Don’t even get me started. Well okay, i’ve already started. Mail-order brides are a perfect example of objectification. And it makes me sick. The featured “couple” was a British dentist who had mail-ordered a bride from Thailand (I’d estimate she was approximately a third of his age). He seemed like the happiest camper alive-his arm flab draped over her shoulder as he told the story of how they came about as a couple. She said nothing, she couldn’t speak English. He was the most gluttonous, repugnant man I’d ever seen, and she was a dainty, lovely, submissive Asian woman.

He talked about their relationship, and she sat in total oblivion. She spoke no English, but he told us not to worry, he didn’t mind so long as she had food on the table for him when he came home. He told us how he allowed her to visit her friend who lived down the street so long as she called and asked for permission. I’m not sure how she did so, due to their language barrier. She bore him three children, and she looked like the saddest, most disappointed woman I’d ever seen. But we’ll never know how she felt, she wasn’t given the opportunity to express herself.

This crap i’ve described for you goes on TODAY. It’s trafficking. It’s wrong, and it’s dehumanizing. Any old rich guy can hop online and pick himself out the prettiest, naive, foreign woman, and take her to wife. Granted, these women go into it willingly, falsely believing that these rich, old Western men will respect and love them. I cussin’ hate the patriarchy.

I’ve been angry about this all day. Mostly because there isn’t a damn thing I can do to change it.

On a lighter note, I learned that the reason i’m attracted to Brad Pitt is his exceptional facial symmetry. So do with that information what you will.

M.

Desideratum

MissM10 Comments

Recently, I was contacted by a reader who completely chewed me out, claiming that I am practicing feminism wrong, and that while I claim to advocate for equality, he claims that I am “leaving others behind,” and that “subconsciously [I] do not believe in equality unless in this moment [I] realize that my actions are not all in line with [my] beliefs and [I] start to change.”

He also told me that my “feminism isn’t about equality, but rather about self-preservation” and that my blog proves it. He wrapped up his ignorant rant-fest by expressing his sorrow in my not fulfilling my own potential and that I could do great things if I just opened my eyes to my own prejudices.

I have been stewing over this young man’s declaration of criticism for a couple of days now, and I even resolved to remain passive, but my frustrations have gotten the better of me, so here I am.

Clearly, the intent of this blog has not been as vividly outlined as I would wish it to be. I welcome opposition to any opinions expressed here, and I even held my tongue long enough to hear this man out. I even refrained from verbally abusing his condescending ass. (New Year, New Me.) But rather than have any more incidents of misunderstanding, I’d like to make a few things clear to you, my dear readers.

I have never, nor will I ever, claim my writings on this website to be a whole representation of my belief system. If it were, it would be a hell of a lot more detailed, researched, and academic. Nay, rather, this website serves the purpose of being a platform for me to document my impressions, thoughts, and feelings as I navigate through life.

We are all guilty of being selfishly concerned by things that affect us directly. The things that affect me directly are what dominate my thoughts, ergo my writing. If my objective with this website were to express my belief system in its entirety, you better believe I would be discussing my frustrations with racism, classism, homophobia, etc. as well as sexism.

Because of who I am (a white, middle-class female) I am predominately concerned with issues in which my gender is treated differently than any other. That’s what has the most effect on my life. Think of DownWithTheNorm.com as an edited, polished-up, online diary. Because that’s what it is. I’m not here to bore you with my standpoint on every issue incorporated into my belief system.

This young man spoke to me as if by reading a post or two, he knew exactly who I was as a person, and once he decided the kind of person I am, he felt entitled enough to advise me to align the way I live my life with my false-claimed belief in equality. You, sir, have no right to point fingers or criticize anyone but yourself until you are clean of all prejudices. Good luck with that, pal.

I’m about to get all biblical up in here. One of my new years’ resolutions is to study the New Testament, and focus especially on Christ-like characteristics that I need to improve in my own life. I came across my favorite scripture, Matthew 7:1- “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

So homeboy who conceitedly dared to point a finger at my prejudices, Jesus says not to judge others. That’s God’s job. Yours is to try to figure out how to love everyone as He does.

Matthew 7:1.

M

Parity

MissM7 Comments

I remember the Spice Girls. I remember all four of us: Cortney, Tasha, (my cousins) McCall, (my sister) and myself, dressing up and choreographing dance moves to all of their songs. None of us could be Baby Spice, because all of us wanted to be Baby Spice. I still think I should have been her, though. After all, I was the only one with blonde hair.

I remember long summer days at the pool, and our quad piling into the back of my mom’s minivan in our bathing suits. I remember sitting side-by-side with my cousins and comparing the sizes of our thighs. Mine were way bigger.

I remember asking my mom later if I was fat. She told me that I wasn’t, and that my cousins were simply too skinny. I was seven years old.

I remember the summer before 8th grade when I decided to participate in the Miss Kaysville Fruit Heights scholarship pageant. I won the Director’s Choice Award, but I know that the pageant was rigged, and the only reason I got any sort of award was because the director of the pageant just so happened to be my neighbor. I’m still glad she didn’t let me leave empty-handed, and still have that little trophy sitting on my dresser.

I remember Lakin Larsen, my favorite babysitter, who always made me two packets of Easy Mac and played Kim Possible outside with my little sister and me. She was always Kim Possible, and we were the bad guys.

I remember going to bed with one little sister, and waking up with two.

I remember when the only things that mattered to me were whether or not I would be sleeping over at my cousins’ house for the third time in a row, and who had the most Water Babies.

I remember when everything mattered.

I remember when everything mattered so much that I couldn’t bring myself to fall asleep at night because I had too much worrying to do about things that mattered.

I remember how in 8th grade health class, we had to practice reading each others’ blood pressures, and mine was so low that even Coach Downs couldn’t find it. I’d never seen a teacher look so concerned before, and I doubt he’d seen a student so underweight before.

I remember buying Coach a snow globe with a John Deer tractor in it for Christmas that year. The man was obsessed with John Deer tractors.

I remember our summer snow cone stand out in the front yard and how we got a whole gang of older kids on bikes to buy fourteen dollars worth of snow cones in one day. They came back once a week, and we’d always spend our entire earnings on syrup and ice so that we could re-open shop the following day. We owned that neighborhood.

I remember when I finally decided that I was going to stop taking myself so seriously, because, let’s be honest, nobody else does. Life has been significantly easier since I’d made that decision.

I remember starting high school with a brand new clique of friends. My best friend, Brooks, introduced himself like, “Hi, I’m Brooks! And I’m a giant teddy bear!” and then shook my hand. I knew right then that we were going to be best friends for a long time.

I remember Brooks coming over to my house for the first time. He laughed at the chubby third grade version of myself my family had mounted on our living room wall. I locked myself in my closet and wouldn’t come out until I felt that he’d adequately begged for my forgiveness.

I remember my Chemistry teacher, Mr. Stevens, and how one day, in front of the entire class, he advised me in his British accent to enroll in medical school for the sole purpose of finding a mate. He said once I’d done that, I could just drop out and be a trophy wife. That was the day I decided I was going to get a PhD.

I remember back in high school when I was a ballroom dancer, and I’d have to get spray tans for competitions. I remember being told by a fellow classmate that I looked like I “rolled in a bag of Doritios.” I blushed, but you couldn’t see it due to my artificial tan.

I remember waking up at 5:30 every morning to get ready for school, which gave me two whole hours before class started. I didn’t mind, because just like everything else, looks mattered.

I remember when I’d foolishly decided to sign with a modeling agency. The agents were all real smooth-talkers, and wrongly convinced me that I “had a great look” for modeling and said that if I worked hard, I could be successful. Guess who didn’t get an ounce of work through aforementioned modeling agency?

I remember how in junior high school, the proper way to tell a boy you liked him was to hurl Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups into his back yard while he was jumping on his trampoline with his friends. This method was successful on all trials but one.

I remember being labeled a perfectionist by some shrink my parents made me see one time

I remember deciding that things didn’t matter any more, and how that mindset resulted in really poor grades, and a lot of sneaking out of my house on school nights.

I don’t remember ever finding a balance.

Absentee

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On today’s episode of M’s Beautiful Life, M skips school because, well, she can.

The first snow has fallen in Utah today. I had to wake at the crack of dawn in order to take care of some personal affairs before class, and aforementioned personal affairs caused me to be late for my 9 AM lecture. For today, I’ve adopted a “screw it” attitude, and have decided to completely bypass my university lectures.

I’ve never felt so alive.

The first item on my spontaneous agenda of Hooky Day was to take an impetuous drive up the canyon. As I mentioned earlier, it is snowing, rather intensely, I might add, so this drive up the canyon ended up being a drive up a fourth of the canyon due to personal fears of swerving off the road because my Camry is good in the snow, but not completely trustworthy. Neither am I, as a motorist.

Then, I returned home from this adventure to document my activities for you fine folks. I’m on my third cup of coffee and am sipping from a chevron-patterned mug, and am sporting my very favorite sweater. I will be carrying on in this manner for the next hour or so.

Next on my unbidden schedule is Target. I am going to go roam Target and “pop some tags,” in the words of the legendary Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. Once my funding runs dry, but not before the guilt of spending my entire paycheck sets in, I will go to my favorite cafe (which I luckily have a gift card for) and enjoy a cozy, culinary experience.

After my tummy has been sufficiently filled, I will attend my therapy session, because I couldn’t possibly sluff off all of my appointments for the day, and also these sessions are rather expensive. Then, I will go to work like the diligent, dependent worker my resume says I am.

I’m the kind of badass that skips school to blog and go to Target. YOLO.

M.

Veracity

MissM8 Comments

Fact: everybody has something wrong with them. That’s what makes us human.

And sometimes, once we discover what’s wrong with people, we are not willing to tolerate it. This typically ends in the termination of a relationship. I’ve been thinking lately of ways to avoid this phenomenon, and i’ve come up with a viable solution. Why don’t we all just start asking each other from the get-go, “hey, what’s the matter with you?” Just so there are no surprises.

If we all decided not to be offended by this question and just offer up our behavior-affecting issues to people as we meet them, they’ll be able to decide then and there whether or not they are willing to stick around, despite whatever issue you have shared with them. Because if they decide initially that they won’t tolerate your individualized type of crazy, it won’t hurt you as bad when they decide they’re done with you before you can develop the feels.

Like on dating websites, in addition to asking you what your hobbies and interests are, there should be a field where you can describe what makes you a little psycho. But don’t feel bad, because we’re all a little psycho. I just think that if we were all more up-front about it, we’d all get along better. It’d force us to own up to our own downfalls, too, so we can all find ourselves even if we can’t afford a plane ticket to India.

I don’t propose this idea just in the case of romantic relationships. It’s directly applicable to coworkers, friends, roommates, all of the voluntary relationships we form throughout life. Let’s all just own up to our personalized forms of crazy and wear them on our T-Shirts.

Who’s with me?

M.

Winsome

MissM9 Comments

You wanna know what i’m sick of? No? Okay, well grab a fuzzy blanket and a mug of hot chocolate with those mini marshmalllows and take a sit so I can tell you anyway.

I’m sick of being told that I am cute.

You read that right.

Woah woah woah, there, stop rolling your eyes and let me explain myself before you start calling me hurtful names like “stuck up brat-face.” That’s hurtful.

Lately, the gentlemen i’ve been interacting with seem to feel that by paying me such a compliment entitles them to something. I shall now illustrate with a real-life example.

Boy: You’re cute.(:

Me: Thank you.

Boy:…. No, really, though.

Me: Thanks.

What up with the “no, really though.” In no way did I indicate that I  disagreed with his calling me cute or discounted the compliment. I simply accepted it with a gracious “thank you.” Punctuation included, and intended to indicate that I was through with that topic of discussion.

“No, really, though.” Uhh, okay. Thanks, again. I really don’t know what more you want from me here, nor do I really have anywhere to carry our conversation.

I can’t help but feel like I owe these gentlemen my attention when they’ve paid me such a compliment. Even if I show no interest, I can’t help but feel like I OWE it to them for telling me that they thought I was cute. And that’s messed up. Maybe I’m the one with the problem, but i’d be willing to bet that you gentlemen of the universe could come to a consensus that when you pay a lady such a gracious compliment, you’re expecting a little something in return.

It shouldn’t be that way, though. This gentleman sought me out, not the other way around. I am not obligated to reciprocate anything.

In summary, yes, I do enjoy being complimented on my cuteness. Who doesn’t?! But do people even severely compliment each other anymore, or does everyone have a hidden agenda?

Help me in my fight against cynicism.

M.

Sapience

MissM20 Comments

I am the worst at dating. The literal worst.

I decided to take a little risk and attend an NBA game with some dudebro who sought me out via good old FaceBook. The whole “stranger danger” concept never really stuck with me, and I am of the naive youth who really believe that people are who they say they are on the internet. It will be my downfall one of these days, mark my words.

-Back to my anecdote-

Aforementioned dudebro was no psychopathic serial killer, though. Just a dude. Sorry to disappoint. I feel like this post would be a zillion times more exciting had he turned out to be a murderer or something. Anyway, he messaged me to tell me that he had two free tickets to the Jazz game the following day, and was wondering if i’d like to accompany him.

In my defense, the only thing I hear when asked out on a date is “free food, free stuff, come with!”

For the sake of personal gain, I obliged him and agreed to allow him to take me to the basketball game. What could go wrong, right?

Now, there are a few rules when it comes to dating dudebros on the internet. One of the most crucial rules is asking the right questions before agreeing to meet up with anyone. Of these critical questions, the most crucial is that of age. You see, I had failed to ask this vital question, and the consequence was tragic.

The guy was 26. There is a 7-year age gap between me and him. Now, that may not sound like much, but it’s hella intimidating to me. When I think ’26-year-old single male,’ I think ‘adult.’ ‘Big boy.’ ‘Not suitable dating material for a lady of my youthful age.’ To my dismay, I had not discovered this minor detail until we were rolling to the arena in his $600 Buick.

The night only grew worse as we drove to his brother’s house. Plot twist: Dudebro invited his 28-year-old brother, his brother’s wife, and their child, to come with us. Oh, and on the way there, he ran 4 red lights. Where were the damn cops?!

Call me crazy, but I find it exceedingly strange to go on a first date with some guy and his married brother’s family. Is that not weird? Tell me if i’m wrong, because I’m pretty weirded out by it.

Also, this 26-year-old dudebro had some interesting comments on my outfit choice as well as my outer appearance. He said, (and I quote) “I’m a picky guy when it comes to what girls wear. Picky, picky.” As you can imagine, my feminist-y mindset loved hearing those words spew from his picky mouth.

No need to worry, though, because he later told me that I passed the test and that my outfit choice was to his liking. Abstaining from violence was nearly impossible at this point in the evening.

It was a disastrous night, and I demanded to be taken home at 10:30.

Reveal yourselves, normal boys, I beg of you.

M.

Garrulous

MissM14 Comments

The beautiful thing about stereotypes is that they are never 100% true. A good example of this is the stereotype of the girl who never shuts up.

Lately, i’ve been socializing with various boys (boys? men? What is the proper terminology for males between the ages of 19 and 22?) and I have found the opposite of the “Chatty Kathy” stereotype to be true.

I don’t believe that gender has an influence on how talkative or reserved an individual is.

I’ve had a ton of fun hanging out with dudes and doing date activities and things, but sometimes I feel like I rarely get the opportunity to contribute relevant comments to a topic of conversation. People like to talk about themselves. It’s what they know best.

I like listening to others talk about things-things that happen to them, things they’re passionate about, things they hate, and I am an exceptional listener. Other peoples’ lives fascinate me, especially when they’re lives are more exciting than my own. (Which is typically the case.)

But sometimes, a fellow will be narrating a personal anecdote that sparks some kind of comment that I just HAVE to make, but it seems as though when these instances happen, the person i’m talking to suddenly learns how to speak without commas and without breathing, thus robbing me of any chance of interjecting my comment.

At this point in the conversation, I have already started verbalizing my thought, softly, though, as to not rudely interrupt, but my voice goes unheard by the speaker, and he continues on with his story.

As the conversation carries on, the speaker eventually leaves the topic of which I would really like to comment on, and begins talking about something else. At this point, I’ve almost stopped listening, because I’m trying to come up with a way to bring us both back to the topic of which I wanted to comment on, but to no avail.

Eventually, I give up, and the only comments I make are the occasional “right,” and “yeah,” and “I know what you mean,” to ensure the speaker that I have not ceased listening.

As I mentioned earlier, I love hearing people talk. And some people, once you get them going, they never stop. They plow through a plethora of topics, challenging my brain to keep up.

I guess what i’m saying is lately I feel like a lot of the conversations I engage in are practically one-sided. Which is fine, because typically I don’t have a whole lot to say, myself, but when I do, I wanna say it gosh darn it.

I wish there were a polite way to say “SHUT THE EFF UP I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.” Perhaps I will try throwing hard candies at peoples’ mouths when I feel that it’s my turn for the talking stick. I will report back with results on this method of interrupting someone.

M.

Why Chivalry Is Dead From A Woman’s Perspective

MissM20 Comments

I follow a shit ton of Feminist groups on Facebook (Surprise!), which is probably not the best idea on my part, because my news feed trends posts predominately pointing out instances in which the patriarchy effs up situations.

I was scrolling through my news feed during church today, and stumbled upon a post that linked me to this article: Why Chivalry Is Dead, From a Man’s Perspective. I’ve provided a link, for your convenience. Feel free to follow along with me as I dissect one fatuous author’s theory for the death of Chivalry.

The article begins innocently enough. The author opens his article by identifying the oh-so-modern “hook-up” culture that we singles are all too familiar with as a contributing factor to chivalry’s termination. I found myself nodding my head as I read this, as the author does make some good points.

I concur with his notion that PEOPLE (not just men), are really slacking when it comes to chivalrous acts, and that nowadays, single people tend to be more interested in a short-term hookup than an actual courtship. And the reason for that is technology. (i.e. TINDER) The author states, “Where did we lose the chivalrous touch? When did it become acceptable to just text a girl, inviting her to come bang? Well said, old chap.

The article continues, but his sound logic does not. This dunce wraps up his article by blaming women for the modern man’s unchivalrous behavior. He says that it’s the woman’s fault because our gender has become complacent with the “bare minimum” and that we’ve stopped demanding what we deserve. Scoff!

So not only is it my fault if a guy rapes me, (because, well, my skirt was a little short) but I am also to blame for his lack of desire to court me properly. Damn my gender’s “complacency.”

I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose a good place to start would be the 21st century definition of Chivalry. According to some dude from ChivalryToday.com (seems legit), Chivalry can be defined as “the choice to do the right things, for the right reasons, at the right times.” I like this definition because it completely takes gender out of the equation.

I am incapable of forcing a suitor to be a good guy for the sake of being a good guy. Complacent or not, I do not possess the power to alter one’s intentions and personal values. I have no influence on whether or not a guy wants to be chivalrous.

Not only does chivalry mean doing the right things, but doing them for the right reasons. If a person is chivalrous, it’s because he/she has made the conscious decision to do so, not because the person they are courting is demanding chivalry from them. Besides, if I suddenly start demanding that every boy I romantically encounter behave in a chivalrous manner, I’ll be labeled “high maintenance.”

Our little idiot closes his article by calling all women to “wise up and start asking for the things they deserve” (meaning have boys open doors and pull out chairs for us because apparently these behaviors are chivalrous even though they insult my ability to use my own limbs?)

His conclusion? “Until then, men are going to get away with putting in the bare minimum and receiving what we ultimately want anyway – sex. It’s pretty obvious that women own the cards, and when they start acting like it, they’ll finally start getting dinner from places that don’t deliver.”

And here, we face yet another double-standard. Ladies, you heard the guy. Let’s start demanding the things we deserve, dammit! And once we’ve done that, let’s see how high our chances are of earning date #2!

In all honesty, though, let’s face it. Chivalry is dead because people don’t care about anyone but themselves.

The end.

M.