Rebel Girl

Last night Kevin and I watched Don't Need You: The Herstory of Riot Grrrl. It was a little thin and it was obvious that it was someone's college project, but it was interesting nonetheless. Ian MacKaye of Fugazi/Minor Threat/general-pain-in-the-ass fame earned my everlasting disgust by moronically saying, "I don't really consider myself a feminist; that's probably due to a lack of reading about the subject." Dude, you get up on your high fucking horse about every social issue that exists, but you can't be bothered to learn about one of the most important social movements of the last century? Screw you.

Watching it got me thinking about what I was doing during the whole early-mid-nineties riot grrl/punk revival thing that was going on. Looking back, I can't believe I didn't embrace it with wild abandon. I was a feminist before I was brave enough to call myself one, I had definite punk rock sensibilities, I read Sassy, for christ's sake. But I didn't know where to start and I was always, always too intimidated to join in; the people were so much cooler than me. I've never really gotten over that. I still feel like it's the cool kids table and I'm waaay too dorky to try and set my tray down.

Kathleen Hanna's interview was so great, because she was so normal and adorable and talked about how scared she got when things got out of control at Bikini Kill shows. And so much of what she said just resonated, like when she was saying she could never stand to hear her own voice and still can barely listen to her albums, and how that seems to be such a common thing for girls. And, yeah, why is that? Why do we have that problem? Let's collectively knock it off, shall we?

I wish it hadn't taken me until my mid-twenties to grow enough of a pair to start exploring this stuff. I wish I had spent more time making art and writing and DOING something instead of watching lame TV. I hope I'm able to get over the idea that I'm too old now and start fitting this stuff in a little more than I have been.

procrastiwhining

I should really be working on a care plan right now. It's not due til the 9th, but it would be really nice to get it in early. But spending the morning hanging out in the local coffee shop plus a snowstorm, which always makes me feel really lazy, has left me disinclined to do much more than poke around on the Internet, where apparently everyone is pregnant or has a gorgeous new baby.

So, okay. Objectively, it is really good to not have children while we're in school. It makes things so much easier, and I know this. Believe me, I know this. But. It's getting really really hard to see all of these people I know who are pregnant and having kids left and right. I'm super happy for all of them, I really am. I've put a lot of effort into not turning into someone who resents those who get pregnant at the drop of a condom or already have the family they want. I'm thrilled that people I care about are happy.

I don't idealize parenthood, by any means. I know it often sucks and is beyond hard. I've seen the screeching tantrums in the grocery store. That's not the point. It's deeper than that and impossible to explain to someone who doesn't already know what it's like. I don't really expect anyone to get it otherwise; I certainly wouldn't have. I try to let the stupid comments roll off my back, unless they're just really blindingly ignorant.

Frankly, sometimes I'm glad we don't have anyone to take care of, like when I was sick last week. Sometimes I don't think about it at all. But a lot of the time, it just feels so glaringly obvious that something's missing.

Cognitive dissonance

I went out with some friends from school last night. We were supposed to see some band called Shotgun Betsy, which was supposed to be three women who do Hank III covers and such. But it was the wrong night and apparently the band is three dudes, not women. So we sat in the bar and drank beer and played Bonnie Tyler and Pat Benatar on the jukebox. It probably ended up being a better time than it would have been had the band been playing, because my friends are a lot of fun and interesting to talk to and one of the reasons I like school so much. Still, when they mentioned a party tonight, I said "Eh, I don't know, two nights in a row?"

A few minutes later I said, "If you had told me seven years ago that I would be turning down an invitation to a party on Saturday night to sit at home in my yoga pants and watch TV, I would have told you to fuck off." Yes, I am becoming old and tired. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, I couldn't care less because my lazy hibernation impulse has become an overwhelming force. On the other hand, I miss the days when all I did was go out and all I wanted to do was go out.

On yet another hand, I'm not sure what to think about the fact that the time of my life when I was socializing the most and having the most fun, a time that I remember with a great deal of fondness and nostalgia, was also the most traumatic and tragic time I ever hope to experience. And now that I'm at my most boring, I'm also at my most content. Maybe that's the key.

When your fantasies turn into "Helter Skelter"

Oh, Joaquin. You were at the top of my "No Questions Asked" list (the list of people I could have an affair with, no questions asked. Kevin disagrees with the theory behind the list but I figure we can cross that bridge when we get to it). But you'll have to take care of this Charles Manson thing you've got going on right now before we can get it on, my friend. You can use this as a guideline:



See? Look how nice you clean up. Go on, shave off that beard and quit acting all crazy-like, then come give mama some sugar.

Blargh post

I have been wanting to write, I have stuff to say, but I'm exhausted and over-worked beyond all reason at the moment and can't even really justify the time spent on this little whine. This is the week from hell and I had to exercise all of my "Oh no you di-int" muscles last night when a fellow student finally crossed the laziness tolerance line (which I don't do unless pushed really really far-- I'm Not Always Nice, but I don't do a lot of confrontation, as most people familiar with me know), and I'm counting down the hours until I get a chance to drink an extra glass of wine.

Just, ugh.

Currently the sweetest phrase in the English language:

Former President George W. Bush.

Home is..flattened by bulldozers

This is a picture of the house I grew up in. My parents bought it when I was a year old and they just sold it last summer. Next door to the house is a cemetery, and it was actually the cemetery association who bought it (heh, "cemetery" and "bought it" in the same sentence). Obviously, they're not in need of the house, so they tore it down last fall. Kevin and I drove out to take a look at it when we were in the Cities last month. This is what it looks like now:


It broke my heart a little--I loved that house so much. But I can't tell whether it would be better if they had sold it to a family, to have some strangers living in it, possibly doing awful things like installing track lighting and putting up Grandma-Bending-Over lawn art. Either way, it's a very strange feeling to know that I really, really really can't go home again.