Tag: feminism

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.

Dogged

MissM2 Comments

2014 is finally coming to a close. This year, in my life, anyway, can be described best as the Bella Swan year. And by that, I mean, I spent most of it whining about how badly my life sucked and did virtually nothing to make it suck less. Actually, if anything, I probably made it worse for myself.

I think that the whole “New Year, New Me” theme that we have going on with the conclusion of a calendar year is sappy and a bit lame, but my own little rebirth just so happens to be going on at the same time everybody else is vowing to go on the photosynthesis diet, or spend less than they earn and put it in a savings account to be binge-spent later.

I have a resolution or two for myself that I will be implementing in the immediate future. No “one last donut, and then i’ll start my diet” mindset for me. I’m gonna get a little sappy up in here, and drop a bunch of cliche’s that cause me to face-palm myself hard in public, but without further ado, here are my resolutions.

1. Get Back On the Straight and Narrow

I’ve mentioned before that I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. However, ever since I graduated high school and was relieved of any sort of familial pressure to attend my church meetings, I have become rather inactive. My conflicting personal beliefs (i.e. feminism) mix with my church’s beliefs like oil and water, so needless to say, attending church leaves me with the bad taste in my mouth that is internal conflict. I’m not excusing my lack of church attendance, rather, I amd simply explaining my thought processes.

I resolve this day to begin regularly attending my church meetings, as my job permits, and even though it begins at 9:00 AM. If I ever find myself in a discussion in which I find offensive, oppressive, or simply disagree with, I will do one of three things:

  • 1. I will raise my hand and vocalize my opposing opinions, regardless of what others might think.
  • 2. I will reverently excuse myself from the meeting and scroll through Pinterest on my phone in the hallway until the next meeting begins, and maintain an open mind for the next meeting.

I am going to focus my thoughts and energies on the aspects of my religion that I do agree with, and strive to follow Christ, which means learning to accept and love those who are and think differently than I do.

2. Self-Tolerence

I have this cute little habit called Perfectionism, and it drains my happiness. It’s no secret that i’ve been seeing a therapist for the past few months to help remedy my slightly self-destructive behaviors, and let me just say, it has done wonders for my mental well-being. My expectations for myself are completely unattainable, and when I inevitably fail to reach said expectations, I am simply merciless. I resolve to accept my shortcomings, and even try embracing them. I am not superhuman, unfortunately. So I will settle for my humanly, flawed, best efforts.

3. No Comparision

One of my favorite quotes in the history of forever is “Comparison is the thief of joy.” I have no idea who said that, but he or she was one deep individual. I am guilty of comparing myself to others, and all that it does for me is make me unhappy with the life I have. I’m not resolving to stop comparing myself to others, as that would be breaking my previous resolution of demanding perfection from myself, but I’m sure as hell going to try my hardest to not let it ruin me.

4. Be Present

Lately, I’ve gotten a lot better at living in the “now” and enjoying life as it is. I’ve stopped wishing away my time, eager to tackle the next task on my pathetic, little agenda. I’m learning to fully immerse my attention into what I am currently doing, and that makes everything seem more enjoyable, even work! Yes, work. In order to continue this upward spiral, I am resolving to immerse myself in my relationships with other people. I’m a people-hater, the type that loves to be alone, selfishly locked away in my room, keeping people, and emotions for people, at bay. This will not be the case any longer! I’m gonna start being a person who people want to be around. So there.

5. Lose the Jiggle. 

Yeah, right! That’s like asking me to bow down to the patriarchy, to which I say, “Over my untoned, dead body!” I do want to get healthier, though, and will begin attending the gym as it fits in with my schedule and mood. I’m already a permanently psycho health-freak anyway, thanks to my good friend Anorexia.

6. Stay True To My Beliefs, and Stay Out of the Defensive Zone

I am very “stuck in my ways” when it comes to things i’m passionate about. Yes, especially feminism. I struggle to give suitors the benefit of the doubt in their courting efforts, and tend to assume the worst out of each one. Hmmm, makes me wonder why i’m single again. Anyway, I’m not changing my beliefs in human equality for anyone, no matter how many abs he has or what kind of car he drives. But I am going to stop looking for reasons to be pissed off by those trying to date me and give people a chance.

So there you have it, my six resolutions for self-improvement.

Have a safe and fun new years eve, people! Do something crazy, and kiss someone attractive.

Cheers!

M.

Assign

MissM6 Comments

You know how in cartoons, a giant lightbulb appears over one of the characters’ heads when he/she has an epiphany or suddenly solves the issue at hand? I swear to goodness that’s what happened to me on my last day of my Intro to Literature class. My giant lightbulb was caused by an epiphany. An epiphany as to the real reason why I declare myself a feminist.

On our last day of class, we were assigned to present a chapbook of poems that all relate under a central theme. Naturally, my theme was “Self-Representations of Women.” I actually thoroughly enjoyed this project, as I found multiple poems that I could completely relate to. Anyway, my epiphany hit in the middle of my presentation when I began slipping into the unscripted abyss that is a college kid’s Intro to Literature Chapbook Presentation.

At some point, I had said “The real problem at hand is that we assign virtually EVERYTHING a gender. It is either masculine, or feminine.” That didn’t really resonate with me until after i’d finished my presentation with the words “Smash the patriarchy!” with blushed cheeks and returned to my desk to find a hand-written note from a classmate that was seated nearby.

His note applauded me for presenting feminism in a way that had never occurred to him before, and he concurred that it is extremely problematic to assign everything from character traits to colors of the rainbow to a category of either masculine or feminine. I suggested hie look further into feminism, and we parted ways.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how this binary mindset our culture has ingrained in us limits us to who we think we are allowed to become. Unfortunately, femininity is considered the lesser of masculinity, giving most feminine things a negative connotation when compared to more masculine things.

For example, math and engineering, toy trucks, and football have all been deemed “masculine” and “boy activities,” and those who are not masculine are discouraged from engaging in “masculine” interests.

On the other hand, cooking, sewing, dancing, and hair-styling have all had the word “feminine” slapped to their foreheads to ward off masculine intruders.

This is problematic for dozens of reasons, and it affects all genders. Rather than allowing each individual to choose his/her interests, we steer them toward what we believe will be most fitting for them, based on their sex. This holds true not only for interests, but for emotions and personality traits, as well.

Women are supposed to be weak, submissive, gentle, soft, and nurturing. If we’re not, we’re considered masculine women, and what could be worse than that?

Men are supposed to be strong, athletic, assertive, and smart. If they’re not, they’re considered ‘femmy,’ which is even worse than being a masculine woman, because, after all, masculinity reigns supreme in the realms of the patriarchy.

I am a feminist because I don’t believe that everything a person can be needs to be assigned to a gender. Society is shaping who we are going to become, and we are playing right along with it. I am sick and tired of the “pink is for girls” and “blue is for boys.” Because I like blue, dammit. And superheroes. And math. And tacos.

Stop gendering everything, people.

M.

Voiceless

MissM4 Comments

Have you ever had a million things to say, but nobody to say them to?

That’s me, as of present.

As you can infer from previous posts, (and, quite frankly, this entire motherflippin’ website) my life is the kind of mess that Mr. Clean would shake his bald head at in surrender. As you can imagine, I have a thing or two on my mind.

My social circle is small. Like, point-of-a-freshly-sharpened-#2 Pencil-small. Recipients of my potentially verbalized thoughts are very limited.

And those within my minuscule social circle seem to not want to hear what I have to say. Granted, some of my feelings and grievances are completely irrational, (Not. Rational. I admit it, geez.) but it seems as though lately, I rarely even get the chance to finish.

Now, I’m not playing the vicim here. I found some sort of inspirational quote prompting me to become the heroine in my story, rather than the victim, so that’s what my new mindset, and phone wallpaper, as of recent.

I don’t even want sympathy. Sympathy pisses me off.

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.

I want a trusted individual to listen to a complete, raw, uncensored, irrational rant of mine, and not say a single thing until I’ve indicated that i’ve finished. Then, I want them to respond with a Denzel-Washington-From-Remember-The-Titans pep-talk, and a hug.

But for now, I will settle for writing my desires here for you lovely people, and leave it at that.

SHUT UP AND LISTEN.

M.

Absentee

MissMLeave a comment

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.