Tag Archives: Feminism

My Life Soundtrack [Part One]

Everyone has that one particularly defining moment within their lifetime, when music suddenly begins to make sense. When it finally went beyond the point of listening to music, enjoying music and maybe dancing to music because everyone else was; at some point in everyone’s life, music truly begins to resonate and becomes more than just a song. And, as life progresses, they will reach more moments in life where a song can encapsulate a feeling, or a moment or become the defining shape of a memory. Music is one of life’s biggest passions, or at least it definitely is for me, which is why I’ve decided to share it on the blog today!

If you took a look at any of my Spotify playlists, or took a journey through the extensive collection my iPod has to offer, you’ll soon realise that my taste in music could potentially be described as eclectic. It can go from being something relatively cool, to something so uncool that it would make mental health professionals question my sanity. I’m unashamed of my music tastes, regardless, but do air caution as to when I play the stuff that I secretly love. If I’m home alone, the blinds remain closed and my earphones remain permanently in my ears and I spend the day listening to music of varying genre, so I can bounce around the flat, singing at the top of my voice, with no one witnessing my horrendousness but me (and maybe the neighbours who hear me sing). Sober me has a relatively awesome taste in music, but drunk me becomes a bit of a lunatic and eventually, at some point in any evening, I will hijack any playlist with the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack and scream along. That’s just who I am!

I’m not going to write a blog specifically about the songs that I like, because we could be on for hours and all that would do is show you how bloody ridiculous it is watching me make a playlist. These are the songs that I can pinpoint to a specific point in my history and remember why I love it so much; it can be triggered by a memory, an event, a feeling or even a person and then suddenly that song is all about those feelings. With the exception of a few songs, none of mine are inspired by people other than my best friends and times we’ve had together, but there are a few songs that remind me of Brain, which he amazingly thought to put into a soundtrack of his own by finding a bespoke company that creates custom made vinyl music – it took him a long time and a lot of effort and money, but on my birthday I received songs that encapsulated our entire relationship. On Valentine’s Day we listened to this vinyl whilst cooking and we kept laughing at the fact that we remembered the first time we heard each song and which specific memory we had in mind; they were all pretty much matching, which is pretty much the dorkiest thing you can imagine, but I also find it pretty important.

The Rolling Stones – Like a Rolling Stone

Long before my obsession with Bob Dylan began, an obsession with Mick Jagger began festering in my tiny mind. I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard this song, however, I do remember the exact moment I first heard it and when it became more. It was the early nineties and we’d only just had SKY TV installed, back when it wasn’t the extensive crap-fest of horrendously bad TV shows and adverts it is now. My parents listened to a lot of VH1 and I remember sitting in our living room one afternoon when the intro to the song began playing. It wasn’t an epiphany style moment that made me realise I love The Stones or anything, but it was a moment that I’m taken back to every time I hear the song. I think the fact that my parents both loved it at the time, too, makes a big difference.

Mike and the Mechanics – Looking Back, Over My Shoulder

This song is without a doubt the song of our family. When my sister and I were little, we would make up dances to everything that we liked and whenever my dad took this cassette out of the case and placed it in the cassette player, we would sing our little heads off and, very literally, look back over our shoulders whenever the chorus plays. It has been a firm favourite in every family playlist we’ve created and now, whenever we descend upon my parents house for the evening, my dad puts this on for us all to sing along to.

Bob Dylan – I Want You

I knew who Dylan was before I’d really listened to his music, but this was during a time where I was desperately obsessed with Andy Warhol, his factory and his super star, Edie Sedgwick. I was besotted with this entire decade and the fashion of the 1960s to the point where I would wear shapeless dresses with contrasting peter pan collars and wore nothing but dramatic black eye make up with flicks and a perpetual red pout. I began buying Edie Sedgwick inspired, enormous chandelier earrings and contemplated cutting my hair off and dying it blonde. Not much has really changed, because every time I see her beautiful little face, I want do to it all over again. As a result, I was looking online and happened upon an article that coincided with a piece I read about Edie and Bob Dylan being together at some point in the sixties. This article suggested that Dylan wrote Blonde on Blonde about Edie, so I decided to download it and see if it was true. This song in particular is supposed to capture the moment when Dylan met Warhol and I became obsessed with it. I’m a total sucker for gossip, but I’m an even bigger sucker for songs about people and to this day, every time I think about it, I remember sitting in my bedroom wearing ridiculously enormous chandelier earrings, red pout pursed and heavily eyeliner’d eyes squinting, trying to decipher Dylan’s poetry. Not much has changed, except the earrings, except now it means so much more because Brain is obsessed with him too. One of the first things my parents said about him was to express their surprise that he liked Dylan too. My mam said, WHAT? You’ve got to be kidding! But you LOVE Dylan! 

The Weepies – World Spins Madly On

This song is potentially one of my favourite songs of all time and whilst I can’t remember, really, what made me love it so much, I do remember that when I was going through a really tough time, I would listen to this song and I’d feel a sense of clarity that other songs didn’t make me feel. I guess because, in spite of the lyrics, the music and the singing is beautiful and relatively uplifting. Either way, it’s still one of my favourite songs, except again, the meaning has changed.

A Fine Frenzy – Ashes and Wine

For a very long time, I wanted to learn the piano and write songs, not necessarily to sing to people, but just because I liked the idea of being a musician. I had loads of friends who did exactly the same thing, so they were inspirational to me. Turns out, I didn’t really have the patience to learn the piano and I’m rubbish at writing songs, so that fell through. I had red hair at the time and was pretty obsessed with looking up pictures of women with red hair for style inspiration and this is how I found A Fine Frenzy. At the time, I was going through a really shitty time. I was in a ridiculously toxic relationship that made me miserable on a daily basis, but wasn’t brave enough to end things, because at this point in time, I wasn’t really smart enough to realise that my self-worth meant more than a relationship (turns out it would take me another four years to realise this permanently!) it’s such a silly thing to say, but this song made me wish that I was in a situation like this; it made me wish that I was so in love with someone that if someone didn’t love me anymore, that I would love them so much that I would want to fight for the relationship. Sounds a little fucked up, but I guess because I was in such a horrendous place, relationship wise, I guess I wanted more. Passion, maybe. Or even just to be loved, I guess? I’m not sure, but this song reminds me of wanting to be in love and wanting to feel passionate about someone other than Mick Jagger, maybe!

Michelle Branch – Everywhere

This song reminds me of being a teenager and spending endless amounts of time downloading music and making CDs for me to take into my bedroom and listen to on repeat. I think throughout my teenage years, I’d make a new CD every single day, because my music tastes would change so rapidly. I remember I went through a stage where I only wanted to listen to music written and performed by women and decided to look up a lot of new artists that I’d never heard of and whilst I discovered the likes of Sleater Kinney and other riot girl bands, I also discovered this song and whilst I’ve never heard anything else she’s written, I fell for this song immediately and would bounce around my room, singing at the top of my voice, presumably hoping I would be discovered by a music exec just wandering through the countryside one day. Ha.

Liz Phair – Why Can’t I?

This was also discovered during my obsession with female artists, but also because of the 13 Going on 30 soundtrack, a film I was obsessed with when I was a kid. I also put this song on one of the millions of CDs I made and I remember whenever I listened to it, I would make up these really ridiculously dramatic concepts of me falling in love with someone. As you can probably tell by now, a lot of my music tastes evolved due to my sheer adoration for romance. I am a total and utter cliché, and I fucking love it.

The Distillers – Young, Crazed Peeling

My obsession with Brody Dalle begun when I first saw this video during my early years watching PRock, because my mother didn’t want us watching any of the mainstream channels like MTV because, as she said, it was full of misogynist rhetoric that would encourage us to feel like we needed to take our clothes off and loosen our morals in order to get a man, which is something we should NEVER do. But punk music that encouraged us to become raging feminists was something she was fully supportive of. My obsession with Brody developed to the point where my entire bedroom wall was covered in pictures of her. One time my mam asked me if I still fancied boys and I’m assuming she was wishing that I would maybe take my clothes off and loosen my morals to ascertain my heterosexuality, but those are things she’d never say…

Okay, well, I’m bored now so I’ve decided to stop. I might post more, which is why I’ve called it Part One. Maybe I should have structured it better and included the genre surfing I’ve done over the years, but then again, maybe I will just do what I want and you’ll enjoy it, because I tell you too. Have a good day!

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Woman to Woman: Labour Uses Giant Vagina to Win Votes

There are a lot of women taking to social media and blogs lately to discuss their increasing concern regarding female representation within British politics. A lot of us are metaphorically scratching our heads and wondering which party to align ourselves with in order to feel properly represented and others, myself included, feel so overwhelmingly disenchanted by the overt lack of female representation within politics that we are considering abstaining from voting altogether. According to those in the know, roughly nine million women refrained from voting during the last general election, the majority of those being of the younger population. It bodes the question, why does politics insist on not representing half of the population? Apparently, Labour have the answer and it looks like it comes in the form of a giant vagina on wheels.

Perhaps this isn’t the most important thing to take issue with, and I may be the only person who feels this way, but I feel that the bus is hugely patronising and, if I’m honest, quite offensive. Whilst I imagine that the thought process behind the bus was well intentioned, I feel that it creates far more issues towards women like me who were disenfranchised with British politics to begin with. A giant pink bus, I feel, only further alienates me from the voting process and a lot of it does, admittedly, have to do with the colour. Harman has openly argued that the colour is the most appropriate representation of their aims with regards to recruiting female voters, but I can’t help thinking that it is entirely counterproductive and creates a more specific and gaping gender gap than the one that already exists. To me, it feels that Labour are insinuating that female voters are different from regular voters.

In essence, Labour have single-handedly landed themselves a specific ‘niche’ target in the form of half of the population by highlighting concepts within their political aim that seemingly only affect women. Harman stated to the Telepgraph that: “I don’t think it’s at all patronising to recognise that women have got different patterns of their working lives, there’s different patterns in families between what women do and what men do. That is to recognise the reality and to say public policy needs to address that.” Which, if anything, just goes to prove how out of touch with reality that Harman and Labour truly are: To suggest that child care, equal pay and domestic violence are female specific issues is only further highlighting the massive misrepresentation of women within our country. This Labour voting tactic that is supposed to appeal to women on a higher level than their adversaries, only further seems to represent the over-arching patriarchal ideologies within our political voting system that disenchanted over nine million voters during the last general election; these issues are not gender specific issues that need to be addressed by women – these are overwhelming issues that have been apparent within our country for decades without being acknowledged by men within government bodies and personally, I find that it is these men that need targeting and not this ‘niche’ (and by niche, I mean that tiny proportion of women that represent half of the country. If you can’t detect my sarcasm, then read it again).

As far as political tactics go, I find this one to be the most offensive. An attempt to reengage female voters is a fantastic idea, but the truth is, reengagement of a disenfranchised body of women that represents over nine million people (perhaps increasing, I’m not sure) by driving around in a vagina bus is only highlighting that the government, whether they be elected or not, have no idea how to appropriately represent women, because they keep seeing us as women specifically. We are voters and the issues that are at the forefront of the woman to woman vagina bus campaign are incredibly important, but we’re not the people Labour need to be targeting. We know that equal pay is a horrendous issue within our country and we know that we are at a financial disadvantage when we perform the same job as men; it’s men and business owners and people like David Cameron whose blatant refusal to acknowledge this wage gap is the issue. The sheer cost of child care isn’t something that only affects mummy, it’s a cost that effects the whole family, meaning daddy needs to acknowledge and support child care reforms too. Domestic violence is an issue that affects both men and women, not only as victims, but as perpetrators too – in short, these are not female specific issues that that is where Harman and her merry band of idiots has gone wrong.

Instead of a vagina bus that highlights gender stereotypes (because all women resonate with and respond positively to a fluffy pink, girly bus!), surely in order to reengage female voters, specifically young female voters, is to highlight the inaccuracies, hypocrisies and blatant lack of gender equality within political systems. Passing things off as ‘female issues’ is only further representative of women not being taken seriously within politics. It highlights the gaping chasm that is gender equality within our country and only further emphasises that issues such as equal pay, child care and domestic violence aren’t taken seriously at all by governing bodies. I get the theory behind Labour’s vagina bus, I really do, but I feel that the only real goal it has achieved today is to further slam another nail in the Labour coffin: They are not only out of touch with their traditions and roots, they are out of touch with half of their voting population too and the main lesson I’ve learned today is that a vote for labour is a vote for the demise of common sense.

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Dear Diary: An Entry by a Meninist:

THIS IS A MAN’S WORLD and I know that the songs says that the world is nothing, NOTHING without a woman or a girl, but James Brown also wrote the lyrics ‘…making the men sandwiches’ to go on the end of that sentence, but due to copyright infringements within the sandwich industry, he couldn’t include it in is song, so he only ever sang it at special occasions like his wife’s birthday or Women’s Day, or something really gay like that. Also, women, have you seen how many women female leaders there are in the world? This is just PROOF that you guys can’t do anything and that you need men to do all of the important stuff like stop wars and hatred and racism and all the great things we’ve accomplished as men.

We aren’t going to stand for you taking over the world anymore, feminists! You hear me?! We’re not stupid and we know what your agenda, REALLY, is. I mean, we know that all feminists don’t want equality at all and you know why? Your name! I mean, if feminism really was about equality, then why does it start with FEM? EH? You think we’re so stupid don’t you, feminists, with your arm pit hair and your big, smelly vaginas! You can’t fool us any more, feminists, you aren’t smart enough out smart US! I mean, this is why movements like MENINIST exist, so that you feminists KNOW that it’s a man’s world and that WE’RE IN CHARGE. Equality can never be achieved unless you all realise that MEN ARE IN CHARGE. Idiots!

You know the reason why everyone hates Mondays? Because of Feminists. They have weekly meetings on Mondays where they stand around and say nasty things about men and I heard a rumour that once, a musical GENIUS named Bob Geldof openly admitted that he hated MONDAY because of feminists and they had him MURDERED. I mean, if that isn’t a sign that feminists hate all men, then I really don’t know what other examples I could give you. Except maybe that all feminists want to chop everyone’s penis off, so that all men are then women, and the world is then ran by feminists. Did you know this?! This is why feminists are all raging lesbians, so they can get together and plot how to do this with every man in their lives. This is why some of them are in relationships and married, so that they can find out man secrets and then use their secrets to chop their dicks off. Also, I heard that when a feminist touches another feminist’s clitoris with her tongue, that’s how they transfer their magical powers. Another sure fire sign that feminism is like, super dangerous!

FEMINISTS also killed my dog, because they hate dogs. Even though the vet said it was due to the cancerous lumps it had in its mouth, meaning that it couldn’t eat, I know that it was feminists because they all openly admit they hate dogs. Especially really tiny ones like pugs. They also hate cats, which is why Instagram is full of pictures of people’s cats and Youtube is full of videos about cats – they use this to test which ones are feminists and which ones aren’t, like men, by seeing if they ‘aww’ or ‘laugh’ and if they laugh at it, feminists kill them 😦

Do you have a mother? If so, you should probably hold her really, really tight and not let her leave the house and maybe lock the doors when you leave to go to work or school or to play manly sports like cricket and golf, because the feminists will COME FOR HER. I mean, I don’t know why feminists can’t just leave our mothers alone, you know? They RAISED us and they are like, literally the reason that we are alive, so the feminists come in and try to tell our mothers that they’re OPPRESSED and that they’re raising a DOUCHEBAG because I have a penis and a really cool t-shirt with a hashtag on it? There is literally no lines they won’t cross to try and push their dick hating agenda. I don’t even want to visit grandma, just in case she lures me in with pie and cake and then she’s been taken over by a feminist and BITES MY DICK OFF.

Plus, all FEMINISTS are so openly rude. Like, this one time, I thought I’d be really nice to a feminist and told her that she was really pretty and that her boobs were like, huge, and she didn’t even say anything back, like not even a thank you or a compliment!! I MEAN WHAT A BITCH! I mean, I made such an amazing effort with her and she didn’t even, like, respond. I really got so mad that I wanted to punch her in the face, but like, nowadays even the likes of PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA is being mindwashed by these feminists and telling men that they can’t hit women when they’re trying to chop their dick off or not responding to us on social media. I mean, for fucks sake!

This is exactly the reason why I’m a meninist. These women have to be STOPPED. They’re trying to take over the world and aren’t at all interested in EQUALITY like I am. If you’re with me, please stand up with me and chant nasty things at feminists and also buy this t-shirt, of which all proceeds will go to FEMINISTS ARE DICKHATING MURDERERS WHO HATE CATS AND DOGS AND DICK AND OUR MOTHERS AND ALSO REJECTED ME ONE TIME!

feminist

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Women: Get Your Own God Damned 80s Franchise!!!

There have been rumours about a re-boot of 1984 classic Ghostbusters circulating the old rumour mill for quite some time now, causing the internet to ripple with glee and speculate as to what the future may bring for their childhood heroes. Some people were hopeful that the original cast would return to kick start the franchise in a manner that only eighties stars know how to perfect and others were more optimistic about a reinvention and reimagining of the movie with a new, young and well-skilled cast to fit in with modern times. Therefore, when news hit that the brand new cast of Ghostbusters would be WOMEN, needless to say, the internet went into a free-fall and became agog with controversial statements, sheer disgust and general disbelief that the classic eighties movie would feature an all-women cast. As the internet will be more than happy to tell us, it’s just one more thing that cannot be sacred to men anymore; it’s bad enough that women took the vote from men, and the fact that they started DEMANDING that men wear those horribly uncomfortable condom things that NUMB the penis to barely tolerable levels, they now have to mess with classic eighties movies too? It just seems that feminism is TAKING OVER and the world as we once knew it will be RUINED AND DEAD.

I can’t say I disagree with them, I mean, is there really a need for an all-female cast? It just seems too implausible so me that a group of women would be able to act alongside each other without either getting distracted and going shopping, or starting a huge fight, as we all know groups of women are prone to do. I mean, it doesn’t even make sense, because like, an all-male cast makes so much more sense than an all-female cast and let’s be clear here, you guys, an entirely female cast would be TOTALLY sexist against men. I mean, in their defense, women didn’t exist in the eighties, there were only mothers and grandmothers, maybe some sisters, but actresses, no they didn’t exist, so there was no other choice but to have an all-male cast. But in 2015 there are women EVERYWHERE as well as there being a small selection of men still left, so surely the most EQUAL thing to do would be to have a mixture of both male and female actors? It makes absolutely no sense to ignore men entirely and have them play supporting roles… men don’t do that, they can’t, it’s an affront to both their masculinity and our general enjoyment of cinema. Also, a small fact I bet you didn’t know about: women didn’t even like Ghostbusters in the eighties! Like I said, most women back then were either mothers, grandmothers or sisters and they were mostly involved in learning how to be better at looking after their sons and husbands, current or future, so the only people who saw the movie were men, so really the remake should be made to remember the sacrifices men made to go to the cinema and see the movie in 1984. I mean some of them missed the dinner that their mothers made and others didn’t get to say goodbye to their grandmas before they died. Hollywood owe it to men to recreate the film exactly like the original; for both their lost dinners and their dead grandmas.

Traditionally, as we should all know, ghostbusting is a legitimate man profession that women simply couldn’t do: They couldn’t hold the equipment in their tiny, girlish hands and would most probably break a nail trying to switch the thing on. Women hate wires because they get tangled in their hair and anything to do with machinery causes women to scream and hold onto their petticoats, demanding a man come and relieve them from such a GOD AWFUL situation. Men have an innate understanding of wires and machinery as taught inside the womb at man-school, so they would be much better equipped to do the job of manning, holding and using the elaborate ghost-sucking hair dryer machines. Another small fact that women couldn’t POSSIBLY COMPREHEND is the science involved in ghostbusting; it’s so intricate and delicate which is obviously why there are ONLY man scientists – women have absolutely no understanding of science whatsoever. Like, it doesn’t even compute to them, which is why you never see female science teachers or any females in a scientific classroom. There have also been absolutely no scientific discoveries or anything note-worthy contributed to science by women at all, which makes the entire film TOTALLY unrealistic and RUINS the integrity of the movie altogether, if you ask me.

Another thing that makes the movie entirely implausible is the fact that ghosts are attracted to a woman’s period, much like bears, which means the set of the new Ghostbusters movie will be INFESTED with bears AND ghosts and as we all know, women can’t multi-task so who gets the job of sorting out all the unwanted ghosts and bears? Probably some MALE cast member who won’t even get recognition in the credits, that’s who. Can I also point out as well, that even though ghosts are attracted to periods, that doesn’t make women more accepting of them. Oh no, women are TERRIFIED of ghosts. Which makes the entire soundtrack pointless, I mean, Ray Parker Junior would be spitting in his grave if he were dead at whoever remakes his classic song. It will probably be NICKI MINAJ who will be like ‘I AM SCARED, I AM SCARED OF ALL GHOSTS’ and then shake and twerk her buttocks around, which is not what Ghostbusters is all about at all. It’s just a common fact that men are better equipped to deal with things like the un-dead so much more better than a woman, in the same sense that they are better at dealing with both spiders and a woman’s period: There are just things that women simply don’t understand when it comes to dealing with scary things, which means that when faced with a ghost in the movie, most of the characters would run back to their trailers and hide there until one of the male cast members got rid of it.

Perhaps the most terrifying and saddening part of the remake is that the comedy rampant throughout the original movie, simply won’t be present in the remake, because, as we all know WOMEN AREN’T FUNNY. I mean, the fact that I even have to write that is ridiculous, I mean, did the people behind green lighting the remake do absolutely no research whatsoever? Take the writer, Katie Dippold for example, I mean she wrote for Parks and Recreation which we all know is a serious documentary about the parks and rec department of an American council… I mean, what funny things happen there? “Oh no! I put a slide in upside down. NIGHTMARE!” I don’t think so, Dippold. And let’s not forget all the women who were on Saturday Night Live – no funny women have ever come from Saturday Night Live even the really famous ones like Tina Fey or Amy Poehler. No, there are only funny men on that show, like Kenan Thompson, who is like, super famous from the nineties.

I am absolutely right by you, male humans, when you say that the new Ghostbusters movie will SUCK. I wish feminists would just realise that this is a man’s world and that movies are a man thing, that only men enjoy. I mean, would women like it if there was an all-male cast of Sex and the City? NO! Women would hate it. I mean, men don’t invade a woman’s world or try to control what women do ever so why do women feel the need to invade a man’s world and take all of the good things away from them? It’s just not fair, you guys.

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Chapter Five: THINGS THAT TERRIFY ME ABOUT PROCREATION

In light of my most recent blog, in which I outlined the horrors of Becoming A Woman, I began thinking about my future and what I should expect of my body if and when the time comes, I choose to house a proverbial bun in my toasty warm and equally proverbial oven. Truth be told, I find the whole concept of being pregnant and the act of childbirth horrendous and I genuinely don’t believe people when they say that it wasn’t painful. I mean, you’re shoving a human out of your happy place, what part of ‘excruciating hell pain’ doesn’t compute? Also, I’ve known women shit themselves and tear their happy place in two, purely to give birth to a tiny human who spends a long time crying, shitting, eating and repeating that process to the detriment of your sleep pattern. I find it terrifying.

Women are also divided in their opinions of pregnancy and childbirth and I’ve noticed that in my own social circles, I have been regarded as a bit of a lunatic for not lying back and thrusting a bairn or two out of my vagina. In the past, people have actually openly tutted at me and looked me up and down upon discovering that I, in my early twenties, actively elect to remain without a child. Apparently, admitting that I’d much rather focus on a career in my twenties and also stating that if I do choose to have a baby in the future that I’d quite like to be married first as, as well as being in a financially stable situation to be able to provide everything and then some for the tiny version of myself, should  I decide I want to have a baby. Apparently, I didn’t make this clear and people have heard me say, ‘I HATE BABIES AND WANT TO THROW MY FECES AT YOUR BABY AND YOUR LIFE CHOICES. I WANT TO SIP CHAMPAGNE FROM A GOBLET MADE ENTIRELY OF BABY BONE AND THEN THROW THAT GOBLET IN YOUR STUPID FACE, MOTHER-HUMAN!’ You can see where the confusion arose, I’m sure…

Don’t get me wrong, I support women who choose to have a baby regardless of their financial or professional situation; it’s a choice, after all and all women are more than welcome to choosing their own life path without input from anyone, especially me. I can’t even tell my right from my left, most times. It’s just the entire concept of it is so terrifying to me: Housing a baby in your uterus. A baby. A human baby. A baby that will one day walk and talk and eventually house a baby of its own; it feels a little Human Centipede like to me… but you know, in the most beautiful way imaginable. Of course.

Parts of pregnancy I enjoy, both in terms of seeing it happen to other people and I imagine enjoying myself if the time comes is that society in general are appreciative and celebrate your every growing stomach. They will also ask to touch it occasionally, so that they can admire it’s sheer size up close and personal. I’m not sure about you, but I would love it if people did that with my tummy now, but they don’t, they look at it and frown and ask how much strain my jeans are under, which I find offensive on so many levels. I also like that everyone treats you like a queen and constantly asks you if you need anything and also tell you that you look beautiful all the time, even though you haven’t seen your feet in weeks and literally cannot control your flatulence but even that is oddly charming because the baby is lying funny inside you, or is gassy itself. Charming.

Parts of pregnancy I don’t enjoy, both in terms of seeing it happen to other people and how I imagine I will feel if and when the time comes is that from the moment this tiny little invader makes its way into YOUR body, after you openly invited it inside, it takes over and for the rest of your life, your body is not your own. Especially during pregnancy: You eat some food the baby doesn’t like? Oops, vomit. You enjoyed wine once upon a time? Oops, no can do, I’m allergic. You want to go to that sushi bar with your friends? Sorry, raw fish isn’t good for me, I’M A BABY. It’s very annoying. Also I don’t enjoy that it just makes itself at home and begins MOVING things around – like your HIPS, did you know that your hips will change and move to accommodate the baby in the birth canal? No, neither did I. I like my hips. I’m very angry about this, baby. Also, babies are HUGE. One of my best friends gave birth to a really tiny baby recently, which kind of seems okay, but then my cousin gave birth to a baby that was NINE POUNDS. I’ve said in the past ‘oh, nine pounds, imagine shoving that out of your vagina!’ with no real perception of how much nine pounds really is, other than the fact that it is considered large for a baby, but really I have no idea. So, for your information and also for mine, I have just looked up house hold items that weigh roughly nine pounds so we can put this shit into perspective:

  • A turkey

  • Forty sticks of butter
  • An entire sack of potatoes
  • A bowling ball

  • An average sized three month old baby
  • Roughly four and a half bottles of 2 litre Coca Cola

Man not included.

I mean, that’s huge! Vaginas aren’t that big, but they are able to stretch to push out a tiny human whom they have literally baked inside of themselves for nine months… a baby that weighs the same as a bowling ball. I went bowling recently and I dropped the bowling ball. Babies are heavy. Going back to my last post about clever sperm, all I can say is that sperm is thick as shit; all you have to do is just keep swimming and kill your brothers until you reach the sweet spot. Women have to literally morph themselves into all sorts of shapes and sizes and then shove out A TURKEY from their vagina! If you are slightly confused by my outrage, please, take a minute out of your day to either look at your own vagina, or ask someone very nicely if you can look at theirs so you can comprehend the idea of a full size turkey making its way out of it. Terrifying, right? Right.

Obviously, alongside the other perks you then have a tiny human who will love you more than life itself, unless you’re a bad mother and then it will hate you. You will also have massive tits if you choose to breastfeed, but I already have those so really all I’m going for is being fat and beautiful and maybe the human who loves me. In all honesty, though, I am more than happy to wait until they have invented some kind of transporter from Star Trek and then the baby can literally be transported out by sending me beam me up, mama brain waves. And then I’ll do it.

StarTrek_Calendar_March_sml

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Chapter Four: Becoming a Woman

If you didn’t read that in a calming, soothing voice akin to Counsellor Diana Troy’s voice from Star Trek: Next Generation, then you have failed me. Go back, read it again, and come back to me with a fresh perspective and better attitude towards the piece I’m about to write. Back? Okay, thanks for that. If you’re male and/or slightly squeamish and are reading this with increasing trepidation that I’m about to go into a Vagina Monologue style rant about my first period or the first time I touched myself, then don’t worry, because I probably won’t. But then again, I might do, because I’m cruel and also because I’m trying to practice literary improvisation.

A lot of the things I read online tell me that gender roles are established very early on in life, depending on what toys you play with, thus, modern parenting techniques advise that parents don’t force their kids to play with toys depending on what part of the toy store they’re in; let kids be kids and choose their own way in life is the mantra. Anyway, I never had that. I played with Barbies and dolls (well, I smacked their faces against walls) I played with prams (ran over bees with the wheels) and played with toy make up and jewellery, as well as girly arts and crafts – I never grew up feeling that my place as in the home or in the kitchen (unless the fridge was fully stocked) and I don’t hold any kind of resentment towards my parents now for me playing with gender specific toys. Granted, I had both of my parents telling me on the daily that I would be a smart, career driven, independent woman who would be able to drive, tell the time without getting confused when the afternoon rolled in and never forgetting which way is right and which way is left, meaning I would just point in directions and say ‘over there’ by the time I was twenty six. Parenting successful, you guys, you can retire now… Anyway, I never felt that my toys were a suggestion of my future to come, nor did I think they were sending me subliminal messages, telling me that I’d make a great home maker/mother/wife, because my parents screamed even louder in my face that I would be AMAZING and BRILLIANT and high fived me when I didn’t wet the bed… In a way, I’m pretty pissed off that my toys didn’t have more of an influence over the adult I’d become, because my favourite toy, Barbie, had an amazing life and other than the subsequent body/self esteem issues I’d undoubtedly acquire by being too influenced by the blonde babe I played with daily, I’d still have been pretty happy with the outcome.

My Barbie dolls were awesome and their lives were pretty sweet. They lived in a giant mansion, all together with their best friends and enemies alike and they’d go on all sorts of adventures and divorce and marry people within a week. Imagine that life? It’d be like Dyansty! More to the point, I’d have been married to a Ken doll and we would have been amazingly well dressed and matching at all times. He would have enormous pectoral muscles, which I don’t agree with, and a questionable crotch region, which I agree with even less, but with the wealth of Barbie and Ken and the abundance of available plastic in the world, we’d be able to sort that kind of thing out, no problem at all. Life would be sweet. I’d also have an entire wardrobe style house full of clothes and every single day would be my first day at a new job. It would be like that first scene in Clueless where Cher is sorting out her outfit du jour via her amazingly technologically advanced computer; the only difference being, that my outfit match would be what I’d be doing as a job that day. My work week may have even looked like this:

Monday: Palaeontologist
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Tuesday: Canadian Mountie
Wednesday: Yoga Teacher
Thursday: Surgeon
Friday: Ambassador for World Peace
Saturday: NASCAR Driver
Barbie-nascar-barbie-collectors-5207141-1913-2560

Sunday: Princess

I mean, that’s way better than any of your careers, right?

Unfortunately, my toys had very little influence over my life. Unless you count my Speak and Spell which taught me how to spell swear words correctly and maybe my doll pram for killing all of those bees.

***

Do you remember watching ‘coming of age’ movies and TV episodes in the likes of Sister Sister, where they’d discuss womanhood like it was some kind of amazing journey we were about to go on, filled with love and romance and in the end, a tub of ice cream and laughs with our best friends for life humans? Then, as it got closer, all it really entailed was a lot of general hysteria at not only your perpetually changing body, but at the entire world around you for being so selfish by not realising your CONSTANT DAILY STRUGGLE WITH EXISTENCE!!! I was expecting magic carpet rides and new found responsibilities that had absolutely nothing to do with shaving my arms or legs, or being metaphorically thrust into the world with new squishy bags on my chest, thus suddenly agonisingly aware of my SELF and the perpetual gaze of the male ascending on me every time I chose to leave the house. It was awful.

Suffice it to say that I didn’t enjoy growing into a woman very much at all; I mean, I love it now, because I’m a woman and I firmly believe that is a great thing to be. I can’t think of anything that wields as much power as a woman’s vagina, except maybe her cleavage in a bar. Or more important things like what a woman has to go through to bring life into the world. There are some people who champion the sheer genius behind sperm and go into advance scientficit discussions about how far the sperm has to travel and out of the millions and millions THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE that assists in the creation of new life.

I’m not sure about you, but when I hear that, I’m sitting there metaphorically patting the head of which ever idiot has come out with that one, before retorting with what actual reproductive heroics actually entails. Firstly, women only have a certain amount of eggs and they start depleting from the moment we start our periods – did you guys know this?! – so when people start talking about biological clocks ticking, they don’t mean that one day you’ll wake up and have an overwhelming urge to reproduce and maybe, potentially steal a baby off the street, like I thought happened… Oh no: It means that you only have a certain amount and that the more periods you get, the more you lose them, because they just disappear. So if you only have like thirty eggs in your uterus and you’ve been a woman since you were like, eleven, then maybe you won’t have eggs in you at all and you’ll be BARRON. Which is really unfair when you think about it, like men can just wank incessantly on the daily for their entire lives and even when they’re like, ninety, they can still use that sperm to impregnate someone. I’m foaming I can’t do that with my vagina eggs.

I genuinely expected that becoming a woman would bring with it some kind of epiphany and that my entire life’s purpose would suddenly become abundantly clear, but other than the fact that I woke up in a pool of my own blood wishing I was born with a penis and that I could now house babies in my womb (ones that were grown there, not just put there as some kind of horrifically upsetting babysitting service) and that the concept of ‘babies raising babies’ suddenly became very clear to me, nothing else really changed. I still liked cartoons and I still believed in Santa Claus and cried when I didn’t get my own way. When I think about it now, I think of it in terms of history and how women throughout life were treated once they began menstruating, relief washing over me when I realised that upon having my period, my dad didn’t trade me in for a few goats to a middle aged man, I was lucky that my dowry remained very much non-existent. I was also lucky that my period coincided with the new millennium; otherwise I may have potentially been procreating for a well over a decade now and making food for a much older man, whose sweaty body had no concern for mine at all (what? The nineties were weird, man!). In a way, becoming a woman for me, meant staying a child, and I found that pretty awesome.

Me, on my 12th birthday, seducing babes, being a woman.

Me, on my 12th birthday, seducing babes, being a woman.

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Doris Does Reviews

book review image2

When I was at university, I used to run quite a successful review blog that discussed books, movies and music predominantly; I had people write for me and I basically gave my opinion on the stuff that I’d been doing. It keeps popping up on my Time Hop every once in a while, so I thought it pertinent to start writing reviews again. I also joined the Femtellectual Book Club as set up by Daire and thought it would be a good idea to start writing about all the books that I’ve read. Most of them are written by hilarious, independent, intelligent and feminist women, so they fit in quite well with both Funny Feminist and the new direction I’d like my blog to go in. Plus, nearly all bloggers write book reviews, don’t they, and I’m nothing if I’m not a huge fan of a trend. So, I’m not going to designate days to my book reviews, because I’m hopeless, but I will be writing them. I’ll also link you back to Sarah’s vlog, where she is now vlogging book reviews on Saturdays!

Sarah also had the idea that I should start my own Vlog channel, which would basically just ben an extension of the blog, but I’d talk about inane, ridiculous and logically bizarre stuff, so we’ll see… I don’t like the idea of my face and voice being on screen, so I might wimp out. Anyway, I will be writing my first book review soon and, as with anything series related, I will have a general glossary on the blog home page.

Enjoy your weekend, lovelies!

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Funny Feminist: No More Page Three.

The Sun is trending on Twitter because today marked the end of a rather infamous era: Page Three was abolished and “No More Page Three” campaigners and Feminists alike raised their glasses in unison as they won a small victory for womankind. In my mind, I am imagining all involved propping themselves on some kind of enormous structure in the middle of London, with Do You Hear the People Sing from Les Miserables playing in the background (note: everything I blog will feature this musical or the foreseeable future. It is my way of life now). It is, in a sense, a momentous day for all involved, but I feel that it’s a little short sighted and that the worst is yet to come.

A lot of angry, presumably sexually frustrated men in social media circles spent a lot of their morning making wry, sarcastic and generally not very funny jokes about how ‘anti-feminist’ this supposed feminist campaign really is and as much as I noticed them, I knew better than to engage with the multitude of morons before I’d had my morning tea, but I did enjoy their poor attempts at crying out against an alleged social injustice: I thought feminism meant that women could do whatever they wanted without judgement! So much for equality! I hate feminism! I hate women! They all cried in some way or other as my poor eyes rolled around in my head so much I felt dizzy. Oh, you poor, misinformed misogynists you… you really are a bitter, but highly amusing pill to swallow. I get it, I get that it’s upsetting that there are no more tits for you to ogle at in the newspaper and that women are, evidently, all shit bags for attempting to re-appropriate normative views of the female physique – how dare we? But, what every man crying out against the abolition of page three seemed to be missing here, is the fact that feminism isn’t about covering women up and making men cry-wank themselves to sleep without any visual aids… it’s about that strange little concept of equality.

You see, guys, being against Page Three was never about being offended by the female physique to the point we wanted breasts to be covered up. As owners of breasts, fellas, we tend to be pretty familiar with the concept… no, we weren’t offended by it at all, but we were affected by it in some way or other: From the moment we grew breasts, our bodies were instantly not our own – we were, in some way, shape or form governed and male expectation was at the forefront of it all; our bodies weren’t ours at all, but property; we were raised by people who normalised the sexual scrutiny of the female physique, a society that inadvertently or not, discouraged women to feel sexual, confident or beautiful on our own terms. I was never offended by page three, but I was certainly affected by it when people would see my budding cleavage during puberty and make off-hand comments such as, ‘we should have put you in for page three years ago!’ and I would instantly scrutinise my breasts as not being right or normal: As inflated bags that should have been out there for the male gaze to scrutinise to its hearts content; it blurred the line between what was mine (my tits) and what was public property (seemingly, my tits).

The abolition of Page Three, therefore, is one small step for womankind in the search for equality, but as I said in the introduction… the best (or in this case, the worst) is surely yet to come? Take today’s The Sun for example…

THE SUN

Instead of seeing a topless, paid and consenting model smiling out at us from the page, we see two non-consenting soap stars on the page, wearing bikinis. We may not see any areolas, but you’d have to be blind if you didn’t see the well-steeped misogyny dripping from the page (as well as the terrible puns… really, The Sun? You have journalists with actual degrees on your staff? Surely not?!). I guess the more dramatic of us could be sitting there with our heads in our hands wondering, what have we done? But really, were our expectations much higher than this? I might have thought that they would have hired paid models to pose with clothes on, but where’s the sense in that? No, men don’t want to see fully clothed women… they want to see half-dressed women and even better, ones who don’t know they’re being watched and snapped, thus being open for public consumption and yet again, blurring the lines between consent, as well as the concept of ownership of  a woman’s body. The image screams that these women do not own their bodies, but the misogynists snapping away and selling their images for a profit do.

The saddening truth is that the No More Page Three campaign didn’t really do anything other than remove nipples from the tabloid; objectification, assumed ownership and overwhelming misogyny still dictate what we read in the tabloid, if we choose to do so. I don’t really think that this is a victory for feminism at all, but the beginning of something truly worse.

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Funny Feminist – Taylor Swift

Image:Billboard

 If someone had said, “you will be OBSESSED with this woman in 2015”when Taylor Swift first came on the scene, I’d probably spit my drink out laughing and wondered what you’d been smoking prior to saying something so entirely ridiculous. Taylor Swift, at the time, was the epitome of everything I disliked in music: An overly manufactured pretty girl with, as far as I could tell from never having listened to her music, absolutely no talent and would eventually be used up and spat out, thus left to disintegrate into a breakdown before she reached twenty five. I didn’t think she was anything other than gossip magazine fodder, but, quite happily, I’ve been proved wrong.

Like many other women in the media in 2014, Taylor Swift admitted that she identified with the feminist movement and really, we shouldn’t have been entirely surprised, given her lifestyle and lyric content in a lot of her more recent songs. I’ve always felt quite sorry for Swift: ever since her dating repertoire became something that the public deemed their property, and pictures of her with different men emerged online and became viral, I’ve always felt like a little cheerleader thinking that she was given a bit of a hard rap. Naturally, a lot of the images shared online were less than complimentary towards her and she was generally slammed with derogatory slurs that branded her a whore or a slut, because she deigned to have more than one lover in her life time.

Some of the imagery included pictures of her and a man, with attacks blaming Taylor for the breakdown of relationships, assuming that she was annoying or she didn’t behave properly within a relationship and that’s why men didn’t want her. Other images compared her to the likes of Katy Perry and Rihanna in another pathetic game that wondered why they weren’t considered role models to children when Swift was, given her bed post clearly had more notches than a Syrian warzone, surely she is the OPPOSITE of what we want our children listening to? Is no one thinking of those poor, helpless children when they buy her albums? The men on the internet are, at least!

Taylor Swift’s treatment by the internet was tantamount to the Madonna and the Whore complex, or similar to stating that when a man sleeps with multiple women he is heralded a hero by other men, but when a woman doing it, she should be sent to a convent for being so wayward and unrepenting of an alleged whoreishness that was she was only branded with in the first place by, seemingly, men. It was another element of controlling young women: “Don’t sleep with men! They won’t respect you!” and thus the idea of the virginal woman is more a virtuous aim for young women, than someone who, you know… Does that she wants to do because she can.

Look who’s laughing now…

Taylor is now worth an estimated $200 million dollars and has made a career in singing about exes who have scorned her. Like the old adage goes, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and whilst men can sit around and blame Taylor and try to tell us that something must be wrong with her and she mustn’t behave well enough in a relationship to maintain the love of some skeezy celebrity, any woman worth her salt knows that she hasn’t done anything wrong and that her actions and response to all the haters is ‘Shake It Off’ – if that isn’t feminism, then slap my arse and call me a bitch.

In 2014, it seems that her career exploded again and that she is doing better than ever since her relase of 1989 and the singles that we’ve heard from that, in particular Blank Space is the epitome of being a young twenty something feminist. Lyrics include I’ve got a long list of ex-lovers/they’ll tell I’m insane and Darling I’m a Nightmare/Dressed like a daydream – She openly admits that she might be annoying in a relationship and that she ‘gets drunk’ on jealousy and that being insecure in a relationship and calling your boyfriend out for texting other women or generally being a pain in the arse is okay – standing up for yourself regardless of how ‘insane’ your ex-boyfriends might say you are is the key here; she’s letting young women everywhere know that it is entirely okay to be yourself in a relationship and what self-respecting woman can’t stand up and applaud her for that?

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Funny Feminist – An Introduction.

Don’t let the title confuse you; I know the notion of a funny feminist is about as bizarre as peering into a tree trunk and watching a red squirrel donning nipple tassels and shaking what her mama gave her for leering grey squirrels for a few extra nuts during the winter, but worry not, fair reader, there are such things as funny feminists!

As previously discussed in another blog, I decided before Christmas that I would add a few more blogging goals to my general list of things I’d like to do this year and one of them was the concept of a series of ‘funny feminist’ posts written by either myself, or if people wanted to, other bloggers or readers/people who don’t blog of their own, but plenty of ideas they want to get out there.

It doesn’t have to be a post full of jokes etc. it could be anything at all; a generally humorous take on anything within pop culture, or a news piece, or even something that’s gone viral on the internet. A lot of women I know have hilarious opinions on pretty much everything, but they don’t really have the platform to post them anywhere other than perhaps a tweet or a Facebook status, so I want to do something that allows them to use my blog as their platform and allows them to write their opinions using their wit and personality as a basis.

‘Funny Feminst’ will be a series of blog posts posted once every week, or month depending on how I decide to do it, or how much interest there is, or how busy I am, but I think it’s a pretty good idea. I also want to use this to write about women who identify as feminists who I respect/like and would like to write a piece on, so there’s always that too.

I will be writing something shortly, but thought I’d introduce it a little bit first, before I get posting!

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