Boobies and The “Mommy Wars”

We’re all sick of the pretentious TIME magazine, asshole quip, “Are you mom enough?” with the cute uber-Christian tart on the cover. Now there’s another photo circulating and it should come as no surprise, because everyone wants to jump into the action.

We’re all sick of the pretentious TIME magazine, asshole quip, “Are you mom enough?” with the cute uber-Christian tart on the cover. Now there’s another photo circulating and it should come as no surprise, because everyone wants to jump into the action.

Nothing is wrong with breastfeeding, and to be honest, I could personally care less if you breastfeed your baby until he’s the size of Will Ferrell. Breastfeeding is healthier for children, except if you examine the toxins in breast tissue/milk (Did you know that breast milk contains substances similar to cannabis? Author Florence Williams’ investigation…discovers the presence of environmental toxins in her own breast milk.)

What inflames moms, dads and childless by choice people like myself has very little to do with actual breastfeeding, or anything that mother’s do. It’s the moral superiority with which some women flaunt their perfection (not necessarily the women in the photos floating around, just a general feeling in the “Designer Mommy” community). It’s like Designer Motherhood has become a woman’s key into the Kingdom of I’m-Better-Than-All-Of-You. Popping a little runt out of your vagine doesn’t necessarily give you keys to the castle, though. First, you must follow ALL THE RULES. But what are the rules?


BE RICH: I think I was reading Parents magazine in the work bathroom last week when I came across the “to-dos” of being pregnant. First you had to change the water you drink–no more tap water. Only filtered. And not just any filter, this special type of filter. Ship your purified water in from Hollywood if you’re really a good mommy-to-be. Then, once you popped out the child, you have to avoid all things plastic. DO NOT store fresh veggies in plastic. GLASS ONLY! And then eat only organic veggies and fruits, washing them thoroughly first. The only consistent factor here is, you have to be rich. If I were to get pregnant soon, my child and I would be lucky if we were able to eat Del Taco for a week straight. I’m what some white people would call…poor.

BE PRETENTIOUS: If you can’t name your favorite celebrity mommy, and if she’s not Gwyneth Paltrow, then you can’t join the club. Only Mommy Goddesses like Gwyneth get everything done–yoga, organic juicing, charity work, etc. Only subscribe to earth-saving, baby-wellness, break-your-back-because-it’s-so-much-work mothering activities like putting brown cloth diapers on your baby, followed by washing them in filtered water and special soap made by Jessica Alba.  Made? I mean…designed. Of course. Celebrities don’t make things, they outsource things to China like Wal-Mart and Apple iPad people-killing factories. Oops.

BE SKINNY & BECOME PRIVELEDGED: The other issue about listening to celebrities–as John Cheese writes , “They come from a world where money isn’t a thing.” There are a half dozen mommy bloggers or mommy spokespeople (like Gwyneth and Jessica Alba) who are pretty popular. They prepare only the finest organic meals for children. While this is wonderful, I take issue with their messages here: when you are a celebrity (and naturally very skinny) and you come from a world where money doesn’t matter, you can buy the most expensive ingredients and you’ve never struggled with gaining weight. You can condemn obesity and turn your nose to fat people for their “bad habits” and tell your kids that if they just run and play, they’ll never get fat, but your message is irrelevant to me. The rest of us don’t have the luxury of being naturally tiny, or spending whatever amount of money we want on fruits and veggies, so when you are a celebrity and you hand out advice, just know that it goes in one ear and out the other with me. Oh, and the rest of us don’t have enough money to afford therapy, and doctors, and dietiticians that might help us lose weight. I’m uninsured.

(Author’s note: I’m going through a very poor stage in my life. I was unemployed for six months and I’m literally counting coins to survive. Call me bitter, but rich people’s snobbery really infuriates me.)

As a blogger, I’ve noticed a trend. Everyone says the Internet is full of two things: cat videos and porn. But that’s not exactly true. There’s another thing we’ve missed: mommy blogs and mommy forums. Women have taken over the Internet, according to Tech Crunch. It’s true. And don’t you think TIME magazine knows that, which is why they strategically placed a mommy blogger on the cover? Don’t you think Mitt Romney’s wife knows that, which is why she decided to get in on the action and stir the Mommy War pot even further?

The Mommy Wars and Designer Motherhood boil down to two things: money and advertising. Advertisers and marketing gurus (“news” sources or political candidates) know the best way to get money is to target women. This isn’t anything new. The Internet is relatively new, though, so maybe this is why the Mommy Wars are being played out on the Internet more.

Either way, here’s how I feel about your boobies, your grown child feeding off them and the rest of the “drama”:

…It’s inevitable that at 30 years old, my friends are surrounding me with everything “baby.”

I can honestly say that I don’t mind the occasional update and picture. A baby might not be as cute as a puppy, but the little buggers can occasionally do things that warrant parental bragging and posting.

The problem arises when my friends—wearing their baby blinders—mistake my polite interest as an invitation to indulge me with stories of possible allergies and prolific artistic talents with macaroni and glue on a daily basis.

So in the interest of keeping me itchy trigger finger off the “unfriend” button, I thought I would give them a few tips about how to keep the anti-mommies from becoming anti-friends.

There are certain words that are acceptable and “normal” when bandied about with other parents, but that non-parents don’t need to hear. These include but are not limited to: kidlet, breast pump, nipple, baby bump or placenta. And for the record, any mention of placenta consumption is an automatic blocking for life… And as for ultrasound photos, just don’t. While it’s a miracle and lovely for you, to those of us who aren’t carrying that little lima bean inside our uterus, it looks like an alien. They all do.

Finally, know that when I say I don’t want to have children, I really mean I don’t want to have children. Do not look at me as if I just declared I don’t want to ever have fun or time to myself again, as for me, having children would amount to never having fun or time to myself again. To put it in parental terms, I would be in a permanent “time out.” (Quoted from Scary Mommy, the only mommy blogger I’m in love with. And I mean, in LOVE.)

And, I might add, your kid is not the smartest thing alive, nor the cutest. I’d rather see a picture of your cat, because most infants look weird.

And just stop with the working mom vs. stay at home mom fight. You’re all wonderful and deserve a pat on the back. My mom was a stay at home mom and it was awesome for us. I want to be a working mother (if I ever am a mother–and for the record, I’ll probably ship in organic breast milk if mine is found toxic and I’ll probably hire a full time gardener and juicer) with a few nannies, because to be honest: I love working and I love sleep more than anything in the world.

Nerdy Guys. Yum.

I love nerds/IT guys/computer guys/shy men. Seriously, when someone starts talking code to me, I get all hot and bothered. I just WANT TO KNOW ALL THE THINGS they’re talking about.


I love nerds/IT guys/computer guys/shy men. Seriously, when someone starts talking code to me, I get all hot and bothered. I just WANT TO KNOW ALL THE THINGS they’re talking about.

Smart is sexy.

I’m not gonna lie, that photo makes me  laugh. But it’s so awful because the whole GTL thing is stupid. I don’t care if you went to the gym today. Stop trying to look disgusting with a tan and your undies down to your pelvis. Seriously. Stop with the “bro” thing.

I love me some nerds. Nerdy guys are where it’s at. 

Maybe they’re not always the most experienced, but I’ve never been disappointed with a nerd. In fact, most women think nerds and funny guys are very sexy.

Why? Nerds are funny, charming, and sweet. They don’t try to say stupid shit like, “You think guys are jerks? Well, that’s because you haven’t met someone like me.” Ew, no. They just do what they do and inevitably your opinions change about men–men like them. They’re consistent. They’re not trying to jerk you over. They don’t try to change you. Even though the world picks on nerds for being insecure, there’s something very secure about letting people be who they are and accepting who you are. That’s an admirable nerd quality.

AMERIKA…FUCK YEAH! Sponsored by Bristol Palin

Everything that’s wrong the way fundamentalists think can be understood by a quick glance at Bristol Palin’s blog. She insults our President and essentially all of the world by saying: “Is anyone really surprised by the fact that President Obama came out of the closet for gay marriage? What was most surprising is when he explained how his position (supposedly) “evolved,” by talking to his wife and daughters.” I’m sorry Jesus, er, I mean Bristol, Christian women aren’t to speak, they’re to be spoken to, right? So, if Sasha and Malia’s dad spoke to them they aren’t allowed to talk back? Or even intelligently dialogue with their father? (For the record, the Obama’s are Christians. Just not the Palin-version.) While it’s true that the Bible does teach men that women shouldn’t speak or instruct men, some Christians move past the oppressive texts and don’t treat women as property. It’s probably time everyone sees women, even young women, as intelligent human beings.

As if that wasn’t gross enough, she’s also writing about the 1950’s by saying “shacking up” hurts men, women and children.  Bristol, 1950 called. They want their ideals back. STAT.

Shh. Memoir Writing in Progress

I’m writing a memoir and I’ve already spent a few years on it. I imagine my first book as a little baby. Everyone is cooing and asking about how it’s doing. At night, I pick up the piles and piles of notes and place them neatly in bed, next to a window and stare at it admiringly.

I’m writing a memoir and I’ve already spent a few years on it. I imagine my first book as a little baby. Everyone is cooing and asking about how it’s doing. At night, I pick up the piles and piles of notes and place them neatly in bed, next to a window and stare at it admiringly. I imagine when the whole process is complete, it’ll have taken me a decade and may have been the hardest thing I’ve done to date.

Last night I went to pick up my notes and writing from a friend. She’s an experienced journalist and editor and she’s always someone I learn from. I’d taken a month or two off writing while she read through what I had. Initially, when I handed my writing over, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I couldn’t stop worrying about what I normally worry about (structure, chapter length, style, etc). And then I relaxed and started really resting. And then I started getting involved in other projects and truly enjoyed my time off.

But now the baby book is back. In my arms. Awww. I missed you, love. I have so much work to do to make it into the final product, but I have a lot of direction for it now and a break from it helped my mind truly take a vacation.

So, with a renewed energy, I’m approaching this next step with excitement. I almost worked on it last night, but I had to get some sleep. As is expected, my social media interaction may suffer, which I might truly miss, but it’s either that or my book will be written on Facebook, one line at a time.

The Opportunity of a Lifetime: Sex with Three People

That time I was asked to join an open relationship

Here’s the thing you need to know about me: I fall in love easily and I’m online a lot. So, last night one comment got me laughing, a friend request was sent and bam…I’m crushing on this guy we’ll call “D.” Anyway, D is cute…red haired though, so meh. Not much of a beard. Three kids. Lives in Arizona. Okay, I’m getting desperate.


I wake up this morning to the sweetest Facebook message:

You had some night. I hope your morning is going well and that you don’t read this anytime soon, because you are sleeping in, peacefully, for hours yet.


Jesus Christ, I’m in love, I think. I love to sleep. Anyone who knows me intimately enough knows sleeping is not just my number one priority, but it’s my life. I could nap right now and then sleep through the entire day tomorrow, wake up to pee and get back into my blankets. Schizophrenics sleep a lot. That runs in my family.


So I write him back. See above (“online a lot”).


The day carries on and he’s my dream man, almost. Not really, but it’s an incredibly boring day at work. I just got rejected from my best friend the night before and a person I liked from the past is struggling physically to remove a really awful drug addiction. My parents are going through a divorce. I’m late on an article. My job is going so well I want to give up writing…almost. I almost landed a book deal. And my fucking awesome friend “T” said she’d write a blurb for my book. And there’s a TV show that kind of is interested.


Now you see my need for wine and weed.


Back to “D-bag”. He asks me about my writing, my journalism, etc. I already tell him way too much. I’ve probably half spoiled my TV show opportunity. And then you know, I’m an activist and blogger. And he reads my mind:


I would love to be a full time activist, I am not a writer, but I have a neglected blog and I’m planing on starting a youtube channel.


You’re speaking my language, son! He gives himself away later by saying “What hosting account do you recommend? I’m on” Blogger is not a hosting account. Wow. Sorry, that was a red flag.


I then go into my whole “my blog got hacked. My blog is my life” thing. And then I say the virus, it’s destructive and damn…a friend cussed me out. I feel awful. But he saves the day by soothing me:


A “friend” cussed you out for something you shouldn’t have been expected to be able to prevent? Not cool.


But let me cut to the chase because it gets good. He eventually gets past ALL my barriers emotionally and jumps, nay climbs, over all my walls. I’m shocked. I’m startled. I’m breathing differently. My eyes sparkle. I’ve mentally moved him and his three children over to my area of the country.


And then he explains to me that he’s in a relationship with this girl who’s into polyamory and he wants to try it:


I have started seeing someone who is trying to introduce me to polyamory. I was reticent at first because of my experiences with Mormonism and the the hideous apologetics around polygamy. I was repulsed by anything that hinted at the misogyny of that mindset. She is patiently bringing me around to some of the more enlightened aspects of it, and her feminist motivations for it. Plus, it’s a lot easier to feel comfortable with it when she’s the one doing all the ‘poly’. I don’t know that I’m ready to explore that, yet but if I do I think it’s going to be something I do very carefully.


I’m going to the AHA conference in June and she insists that I have a “conference fling” or that we try bringing someone into our experience. …sigh… I used to be so uninhibited! I’m hoping the right person can help me with that. She is starting to feel uncomfortable with how one-sided this is. I am really enjoying my experience with this person but I feel a little caught up in a whirlwind and i’m just trying to hang on. in the meantime, it’s really, really nice to be with someone that isn’t self-conscious about letting me please her, lots, and lots. It’s like all my pent up ‘giving’ is final able to be indulged and I’m making up for lost time.


“…We try bringing someone into our experience…” Share?! Partners?! Sex? Open relationship?


My mind starts going to shark infested waters with a bloody carcass getting mangled to shreds. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! In my head I’m screaming bloody murder. That sounds absofuckinglutely terrible. Have I digressed to the ’50’s? Has someone turned me into Ann Romney? What’s wrong with my head?


I say, I’ve done the threesome thing. It was fun, but not something I’m into doing again.


And of course, I have to be honest:



I’ve had partners who tried to convince me to do something and you know, sometimes I gave in, but ultimately, they weren’t things I wanted to do, so I wasn’t happy doing them. I was giving but not into it. For example, someone tried to ask me to be his dominatrix last week. Not really my thing…and when I said no, he got super pissed and we’re not friends anymore. I think sex should be really far away from coercion.

I won’t lie…I’m a little bummed that you’re seeing someone because you’re pretty much my type.

So, we like each other. A lot. This goes on for awhile. And it gets heated. I sigh. I bite the bullet and say, Ugh, okay, I’m not going to take this further until you’re single. Sorry, it’s not my thing to try to break people up.


But he persists. And draws me in. And then I say it again, No, not ’til you’re single.


Then I’m more frank: I’m torn between, “you dirty scum” for messaging me while you’re in a relationship to “oh maybe it would work.”


Then the real me spoke up:



Are you trying to recruit me into a threesome? Is that what this is about?


And he said,

as glorious as that sounds, and it is entirely possible that you have just given me fantasy images for a long time to come, no. At this time with as I know about you and me and our dynamic, I want our experience, at least our first few experiences to be just you and me. I want to focus are you exclusively. I want to give you my full and undivided attention.


Damn, that’s sexy. Except for the “our first few experiences to be just you and me.” Uhhhh….Wait. What? But he then clarified because he’s psychic and knew I was spitting out my water all over the screen with shock:


let me add to that slightly. if it was something YOU wanted, if it was your fantasy (yes I read when you said you didn’t want that again, I’mjust explaining the situation that I would consider). If you picked the third and I still got to focus on you exclusively with somebody else helping to give you the ultimate sexual experience – that is something I would do. But no. I’m not angling for that.



But I play dumb just so I’m clear: So where does your partner fit into this?


Well, he says,


depends on what you and her want. Either as an enthusiastic and welcome lparticipant or as an informed, consenting absentee, or a friendly, uninformed former partner.

Or any other idea that appeals to all of us





I am not just insulted.


I’m pissed off.


What a manipulative lying cunt fucker.


So you little cunt fuck, here’s what I think:


Don’t fucking think that you’re “enlightened” you manipulative son of a bitch. This isn’t enlightenment. It’s disgusting, disrespectful coercive lies. I wouldn’t have had sex with you if you were last dude on the planet. You live in Fucking Arizona.


Also, next time you’re picking up on someone for poly-Mormonism, just be honest and up front. Don’t lie. Don’t say what someone wants to say. Get help if you’re a sociopath.


And then, if you’re interested (sociopaths aren’t), get to know the person. Be yourself.


You know what sucks? The dude has my number. Ugh. Lame. I really need my agent (that I don’t have yet) to take my phone away from me. And my Facebook.

Labels are for Soup Cans

My friend Ashley (props to her for the blog title and other phrases) suggested a book to me called Same Sex in the City. My lovely Kindle Fire picked up the sample, I read it, and then I freaked the fuck out.

I’m a lesbian who likes men.


My friend Ashley (props to her for the blog title and other phrases) suggested a book to me called Same Sex in the City. My lovely Kindle Fire picked up the sample, I read it, and then I freaked the fuck out.

I identified with everything the authors said. By all estimates, I was a lesbian. Terrified, I closed that book and decided to work on myself one thing at a time. And that one thing would not include my sexuality…for a long time.

I mean, I’ve got other things to “work on” and discover. Don’t we all?

The sad thing is, I’m all enlightened and shit. It’s 2012. I’ve been blogging since 2010 and all of a sudden I’m scared of my sexuality? Yep. I still am. I’ve made major progress–coming out as non-Christian, then as atheist, then as a feminist. I suppose that’s all good.

After my last bf (boyfriend) and I broke up, and after I incessantly talked about dating women during our relationship, I was immediately happy. My first thought, “Now I can finally date a woman!” Then I spent an entire weekend with my family to “recover” and realized that they’d never accept me. They still insult me for voting for the n-word Obama.

Tied into the “Am I a lesbian?” panic is my difficulty getting along with men. My childhood was riddled with a physically abusive stepfather who beat the sh*t out of my mom when I was fifteen and then manipulated her into staying around for 27 years. I haven’t been normal since. Around thirteen, pre-beating, I became a feminist. It was fueled out of rebellion against my dad’s sexist, machismo ways I’m sure, but also by my desire to help others. (See also: Major Childhood Issues). But at fifteen, my dad was in Alcholics Anonymous and Spousal Abuse classes where he’d gotten “saved” and “given his life to the Lord.” So, he obviously had to sit me down one night and ask me if I’d been saved.

Long story short, I was saved, became a reverend, joined a cult, etc. The story in it’s entirety is in my website, which is currently down from being hacked. More on that later.

Being saved and having an abusive father definitely played into my fear of sexuality. For example, as a Christian, being gay is something that can rub off on you. It’s a choice. It’s a sin. It’s also something that qualifies you to be called a pervert. Being a pedofile priest does not qualify you, though, because they’re doing the Lord’s work.

My father is a tea-partier, Rush Limbaugh loving fundamentalist. To say we’ve clashed in the past few years is an understatement. I do try to keep the peace, though, and I’ve found that in doing so, I’ve been forced to lead a double life. Or chosen. Either way, I’ve started running away from family conflict and in an effort to keep the peace and not make the wife-beater’s temper flare, I just keep my mouth shut.

There are few benefits to keeping your mouth shut.

In the past few weeks, things in my family have drastically changed. My parents have split up and divorce papers have been filed. While each one of us have struggled with the difficulty of this, I think we’ve realized it’s best. It’s also radically shifted something for me: I’ve become a bit more liberated. No more walking around on egg shells, wondering when I’m going to get yelled at or picked on. No more Are-you-a-dyke? talks. No more cycles of violence.

At least that’s how it feels. It feels like a big burden has been lifted through this divorce, and although I’ve come to love my father as a complex human with a good side and a bad side, I’m happy my mom won’t be treated as sub-human anymore and I won’t be treated as a threat for standing up for her.



The other benefits to watching a terrible marriage end is a huge reality check. Marriage isn’t for everyone and preventative measures should be taken to protect your assets, your individuality, and your well-being before entering a marriage (if you choose to do so). I’ve spent the several years following my exit from a cult wishing I was married with kids, not because I wanted that, but because I’d been brainwashed by the Church that a woman’s place was in her husbands home.

I’m becoming excited for my new-found liberty. My life is fulfilling and so is my job. I think I’d like kids, my own or maybe to be a stepmom, but I’m sure as hell not in a rush. I think I’m actually pretty damn content for the first time in my life. Not perfect–far from it. Fuck, I have so many issues I need a personal assistant to keep up with them. But I’m finally getting over that goddamn pressure to get married in order to “be complete.” And I can thank my parents divorce for that.

As for my sexuality…this discussion is to be continued. If you’ve had your own coming out confusion and experience, leave me a comment or Facebook me.