The Attack on Women

“Belief in the social, political and economic equality of the sexes.”

That little statement is the actual definition of feminism. Not too scary, right? It conjures images of a peaceful, balanced society where both men and women are free to pursue the same happiness with equal rights. Ah, such a nice thought.

And yet, feminism has such a nasty reputation in our society. Windbag douche canoes like Rush Limbaugh, who coined the term “Feminazi,” will have you believe feminists are a group of overweight, hideous beasts who are just jealous they can’t be pretty and flirt their way to the top. In fact, according to Limbaugh, feminism was created “to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream of society.” Yes, I’m sure that’s what women who championed for the right to vote had in mind, how they looked.

As much as I’d like to believe the emotionally and intellectually retarded Limbaugh hasn’t influenced anyone enough to believe that statement, that’s not the case. More often than not, if you ask a young woman if she’s a feminist, she’ll turn pale and deny it. I’ve seen that more than I like to admit. In fact, I too once distanced myself from the term because of its negative stigma. Then I learned what it actually meant and just how much feminists have done for my grandmothers, my mom, me and any future female I may produce.

Granted, there are some really scary "How dare you hold a door for me?!?" feminists out there. I won’t deny that. They take it to an unfair level and cause quite a ruckus. But just like we can’t associate Muslims with terrorists or Christians with that Fred Phelps creep, we can’t confuse the crazies with actual logical feminists. Because we’re at a point right now where we need to call on our inner feminists more than ever.

I never thought I’d see our country go so far backwards, and so quickly, when it came to women’s rights. If anything, I thought we’d continue to move forward in my lifetime. But over the last few months, I’ve seen headlines that have terrified me and made me feel like a second class citizen in my own country. We’re on a dangerous backslide into more archaic times. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep quiet about it.

My wake up call started with that awful  “redefining rape” nonsense. This bill, which thankfully has been set aside, was an absolute disgrace. Rape is a horrifying, traumatic experience with a lot of gray areas that are difficult enough to deal with without bring forced to “prove” you were assaulted. It was degrading and disgusting. Unfortunately, it was only the beginning.

Since then, the headlines have gotten so unbelievable that sometimes I think I’m reading The Onion… only, The Onion is funny. This is not. This Iowa Bill, while weak and likely not much to worry about, is particularly disturbing because lawmakers used the testimony of a woman who was forced by an abusive ex to get an abortion. That’s a crime in itself. The pro choice movement is about just that, choice. Of course that woman regrets the abortion she was forced to have. She has the right to tell her story and heal from her own wounds, but not the right to force others to make a different choice. I believe she was just a pawn of the lawmakers pushing their own agenda and sadly let herself be a victim again.

Then there’s this monster named Joe Pitts who seems to think that if I get myself into a horrifying situation where it’s either my life or my unborn child’s, I should just go ahead and die if the doctors have some kind of moral obligation to performing such an operation. Never mind what I’d like to have happen, what my husband wants, or the fact that I should be given the best possible medical treatment no matter what my choice is. Nope, I just have to die and stick my husband with raising the baby if it survives, because clearly that’s what his God intended.

 Now, normally I’m all for men having an opinion on the issue of abortion even though they don’t own vaginas because I don’t believe we should just disregard their opinions on the subject. It doesn’t seem fair to me and it seems like saying men don’t have the right to an opinion is just as bad as the men who think women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen and not work or vote. This guy is an exception. Joe Pitts, you should forfeit your right to ever have an opinion on this issue again because you are so far out of touch with reality, you’ve lost the ability to think. You are a heartless, mindless minion with no soul and as far as I’m concerned you are politically useless. And that’s the nicest thing I can say about that.

This lovely bill in South Dakota is extra scary because it turns pro choice people into hypocrites. Oh, we’ll support abortion rights but we’re against killing the doctors, are we? Well yes, yes we are. Now, state Rep Phil Jensen, an outspoken pro life activist, doesn’t know why on Earth people would assume this bill has anything to do with abortion. None. It’s not spelled right out in the definition or anything. So much for the sanctity of human life and all that nonsense, right? That only applies to the unborn.

It’s not just met who are attacking our rights, either. Meet Lila Rose, a misguided little Catholic girl who has taken it upon herself to attack Planned Parenthood by infiltrating their clinics and blatantly trying to trap them. She’s also responsible for the recent (false) rumors that Planned Parenthood covers up sex trafficking.

Now, I’d have no problem whatsoever with her and her little cronies exposing Planned Parenthood if they were actually committing crimes. But they don’t seem to be doing anything wrong. All she’s doing is creating fear in the staff who are just trying to help women however they can. I’m not even going to comment on the fact that this chick is 22, grew up in a wealthy family, has never really had to worry about much and likely has no idea what real life is like, nor am I going to call her a sheltered twit. I’m going to do the ultimate: I’m going to pray for her right through my sinning, swearing, wine-guzzling lips. She clearly has no idea whatsoever of the damage she’s causing to her own gender and I will pray for her to have a wake-up call, like this woman (click the link when you’re done reading my rant, it’s extremely well-written and awesome) and realize that this organization is not evil.

But none of this even holds a candle to how ridiculous Friday’s House vote to ban federal funding for Planned Parenthood is. Upon hearing the news I went to the gym and burned 500 rage calories. Then I calmed down and tried, like I always do, to see it from the other side. I can see how the GOP would think this amendment coincides with their “small government” beliefs. And that’s it. I just couldn’t get my head far enough up my ass to think of anything else.

The majority of Planned Parenthood’s patients are obviously low income women. And while Planned Parenthood’s services are not typically free, they do use a sliding scale based on a patient’s income. So the women at the bottom of the totem pole—the ones who are unemployed or make practically nothing—are the ones using the federal funding. The women who need it the most are the ones being punished. If a woman cannot afford a pap smear, how will she afford treatments for any cancer or STDs found? If she can’t afford an abortion, how will she afford to pay for a child? With more and more people falling below the poverty line, the potential for disaster is huge. What’s more: as of now, Planned Parenthood DOES NOT use federal funds for abortions. The people trying to bring them down are aware of this. Just the idea that they may in some way contribute is enough for them to fight it.

I can sympathize with people who don’t want their tax dollars funding things they’re opposed to. I really can. I liken it to the rare occasion I walk into a Walmart.  But I am begging these people to consider the bigger picture. Think of women who may needlessly die from cancer or require extra (expensive) treatment because they didn’t catch it early because they couldn’t afford their annual exam, to name one of approximately 1 million examples. I also know the founder of Planned Parenthood was rumored to be pretty shady and had some questionable practices. But today, it really is a wonderful organization that helps millions. Martin Luther King, Jr. was an adulterer and a womanizer, but he did far more good than harm.

Here’s the truth: I would not wish abortion on anyone. Not my worst enemy, not the crackhead who never finished paying me for my car, not Lila Rose, not anyone. Pro choice people do not love abortion. No one does. If I had wish, it truly would be for an ideal society where women only got pregnant when they wanted to and the little embryos and future moms were as healthy as could be. It breaks my heart that it has to exist. But it does have to exist. The best we can hope for is to educate our youth and hope they will make the right decisions, come down as hard as we can on convicted rapists and send the message to women that they are the true owners of their bodies and minds.

I didn’t think anything would make me more sad than this, a clip of Lila Rose on the Glenn Beck show where she suggests that a raped woman should do the honorable thing and carry the pregnancy to term, something that should be the woman’s choice and no one else’s.

But something did. This quote, by Mike Pence, perhaps the biggest foe of Planned Parenthood next to Ms. Rose: "As a father of two teenage daughters, I see the video that came out this morning, I see the video that came out last week, and it's an outrage to me that employees of Planned Parenthood clinics across the country are facilitating the abuse of minor girls in this country,"

First, the video he’s referring to is Lila’s Live Action video and was reported as a hoax, so he really had no business acting as if it was a fact. Second… two teenage daughters. This man, who clearly has such a hateful vendetta against women’s rights, is raising two of them. Even if he is the most conservative man on Earth, he should be thanking God that Planned Parenthood is around for his daughters. No matter how he raises them, they might find themselves in a bind one day and need medical attention they can’t pay for. He should rest easier knowing there’s an organization out there that will help them if they get cancer or can’t afford medical testing, not trying to discredit it and sweep the issues under the rug.

Politically, I’m very much an Independent. I base my feelings on issues on logic, not on which party comes up with an idea and certainly not on what any church teaches because of that pesky little thing called Separation of Church and State. I really don’t like to pick on one party more than the other because to me, they both suck. And this SHOULD NOT be a political issue in the first place. But I can’t ignore this. Facts are pesky things and I’ll be damned if I’m going to support any ridiculous nonsense this party spews on the issue of women’s rights. If the GOP wants to go to war with my gender, well, bring it. We'll fight back.

In a time when the word “feminist” is shunned and ridiculed, I’m calling on my inner feminist more than ever. I don't care if it brings to mind images of women who burn bras and don't shave. I love my bras and I shave nearly everything and I wear pink. We shouldn’t have to attack the rights of a group of our citizens to achieve the much-needed peace in this country.  Rather than removing funding and burying our heads in the sand, we should be educating (not scaring!) young people and empowering them to be the best adults they can be so this cycle doesn’t have to be repeated. I can’t force any of these people not to raise their kids to be fear-mongering and closed-minded, but I can certainly say that in my family, the cycle stops right here. 

Hotties in hell: life lessons from the nightclub

You might think that the nightlife culture is simply for mindless entertainment with no life lessons to be learned. I disagree. I learned several at last night’s outing alone.

One of my Golden Girls owns a promotional company and is, to say the least, quite good at what she does. Her events make you forget that you’re at a bar in Spokane, Washington and, just for an hour or two, you feel like you’re in Vegas or somewhere far more awesome. So when a local nightclub forced her to compete with another promo company for their contract, a “Heaven vs Hell” party was planned. My Golden Girl was in charge of hell, and we were asked to put on red and come support her. Of course, we obliged… we being my husband, my sister wife/houseguest, and the other Golden Girls.

So Mr. W vacuumed the minivan (our Soccer Mom limo which conveniently flies right under the radar of all cops) and we went over to pick up our Blanche and “pre funk.” Blanche, sister wife and I killed a bottle of red wine in record time and were buzzed and giggly as we pulled up to the Isle of Douche, the nightclub where the festivities took place.

 The Isle of Douche is exactly what it sounds like. This club attracts some of the silliest douche bags you’ll ever see and it’s impossible to take it seriously. Still, it’s sadly the most happening spot in the area right now, so I can handle it- if I drink first. We promptly parked our Soccer Mom limo and headed toward the Isle of Douche. And there, in the doorway, the lessons began.

Lesson One: If you become dramatically more attractive as you age, either get a new ID or carry a credit card for back up.

My sister wife is a hot girl. She works out, she eats copious amounts of extremely healthy food, and she takes care of herself. However, this wasn’t always the case, and let’s just say her driver’s license picture reflects that. 18-year-old sister wife and 24-year-old sister wife don’t look like they’re related or even run in the same social circle.

The douche bouncer at the Isle of Douche took one look at sister wife’s ID and stopped her, grilling her with questions about the info on the ID. A long line began to form as guests wondered what was up, but the douche bouncer wasn’t about to consider that or anything but busting this imposter. Because clearly this blond beauty that stood before him could've never sported thick rimmed glasses and a fuzzy brunette mop. Blanche, Mr. W and I contained our laughter until the douche bouncer asked sister wife to spell her middle name and, in a bout of wine-induced panic, she misspelled it. The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter until the douche bouncer said, “Normally we confiscate these. I won’t, this time, but I’m not letting you in.”

I replied, “Go ahead and try and take it and see what happens, This girl is 24 years old and that’s her real name, and we’ll be going inside shortly.” Blanche texted our little hellion, who rushed out in her sexy little devil outfit and vouched for sister wife. This wasn’t good enough for douche bouncer, so we had to get the manager, who let sister wife in. To the bar she’s legally old enough to enter in the first place. We laughed all night long that she almost didn’t get in and nearly had her own damned driver’s license confiscated, because she’s hot now.

Lesson Two: If you act like a bitch and shut people out to try and feel important, you may end up alone or surrounded by less than stellar people.

Once we, at last, made it inside the Isle of Douche, we rushed over to the VIP section that had been set up as an S&M chamber. Since our friend the sexy devil had set it up, we assumed it was her VIP. All our mutual friends were there including our Dorothy, who took us on October’s Vegas adventure. So we stood in the corner, hanging out and having a happy Vegas reunion.

Out of nowhere, an unfortunate looking young lady appeared with a scowl on her unpleasant face. She informed Dorothy that it was her VIP, damn it, and her birthday, and we were just evil intruders who had dared to hide out in the corner of the little roped off section she paid to stand in to look better than others. Our bad! Now, if she had bothered to come talk to us she would know who we are, that we have a ton of mutual friends, and that we’re awesome people who would’ve been pretty great to have around on a birthday, since we’re lovely and generous. Or, at the very least, she would’ve learned that we thought it was our friend’s VIP section and that’s why we were in it. But she did not.

So we moved down the two stairs and camped out in our own little spot and we had just as much fun doing exactly what we were doing upstairs. Throughout the night, we’d glance up and see the VIP section nearly empty with the unfortunate looking girl sitting alone amongst her cupcakes…or, worse, random dude trolls looking out at the crowd. I felt bad, until I remembered my own nightclub birthday. We had some crashers in my section and I greeted them warmly and befriended them, inviting them to stay. They in turn bought me a shot, which was a terrible idea as I ended the evening vomiting in my tiara, but still, it was a great day and I have no regrets. Life is just far too short to be a bitch.

Lesson Three: $3 Long Island iced teas are a terrible idea. There are no exceptions to this rule.

Immediately following our eviction from our corner, the ladies decided we needed a round of drinks. I was trying to decide what to order when Dorothy informed me that Long Island iced teas were $3. Now, I’m no stranger to the Long Island iced tea. We had a volatile relationship in college. The last time I had the tea I woke up on my best friend’s couch wearing only a bra in jeans and covered in newspapers. That was seven years ago. I knew better, but right now I happen to be in the depths of poverty and cheap.

As sister wife and I sipped our teas, we decided that was definitely all the alcohol we needed for the evening. We felt almost smug, making such a grown up decision and imagining our hangover-free, productive Friday. Less than an hour later, Dorothy strode over with her hands full of Long Islands and handed us each one. We didn’t need it, but who were we to turn down such generosity?

“Goodbye,” the three of us said to each other, toasting our teas. Goodbye indeed. For the next two hours I simply grabbed a wall and gyrated listlessly against Mr. W because that’s all I could do. That second Long Island was stronger than the first and, though I nursed it for a full 90 minutes, it did some damage. I ended up devouring homemade nachos and Amy’s Spinach Pizza at 2 AM before passing out face down on my bed less than five hours before I had to be up in the morning.  Nice one, me.

Lesson Four: Use nightclubs bathrooms early on in the evening and at your own risk.

Thanks to the wine, I had to use the ladies’ room as soon as we (finally) got in to the Isle of Douche. It wasn’t stellar, but it was fairly clean and was stocked with all the appropriate necessities. Two hours later, it was a different story. It looked like it had been bombed and paper products were scarce. Other than meeting a hilarious wasted girl who explained that she’d just lost a bunch of weight and was having trouble filling her bra (Oh! I just realized that’s where all the missing paper probably was), the second trip was traumatizing. Never again.

Lesson Five: Good friends will support you when things are important.

 I haven’t seen my Golden Girls in a long time. We’re all busy people with crazy lives. I knew when my sister wife came to town she’d want to see this group, but I figured with all of our schedules that would never happen. When our friend explained the need for the party and what was at stake, we all dropped what we were doing and attended her event. We made sure we were there. And not only did we help support her (and hopefully make the owners of the Isle of Douche realize that no one can throw a party like my girl), we had a wonderful, happy, Long Island iced tea infused reunion in the process. Double win.

So you see, going out provides far more than entertainment and can provide you with worldly experiences and valuable lessons regarding complex social behaviors. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Now, perhaps I should consider changing out of my pajamas.