Feminism is dead.
I have never considered myself a feminist. That was a concept that they needed in the 1960’s and 1970’s to overcome inequalities that no longer exist and is therefore irrelevant. Anyone who describes themselves as a feminist now is a man-hating bulldyke bitch—like Hilary Rodham Clinton. And who wants to be associated with that? It’s unattractive.
As a child, Dad encouraged me to do well in school so that I could be whatever I wanted to be. When he said that I could be anything, he really meant that I should go into Medicine or Engineering. He also strongly encouraged me to marry for money and not to do so until after I had finished my first four years of college. Because he would not be paying for my wedding, he suggested elopement. It would be cheaper.
My parents followed traditional gender roles. Mom never attended college. It wasn’t really presented as an option. She was a stay at home mom for the first 13 years of my life—cooking, cleaning and caring for me and my brother. Dad worked 40 hours a week, doled out Mom’s allowance and did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. It was the typical Conservative, Republican, Nuclear Family.
Household responsibilities were clearly demarcated as Mom or Dad’s. The kitchen was Mom’s area of expertise. Dad might have washed one load of dishes during my first 18 years—in one extreme instance when Mom was deathly ill. And there was a point during Dad’s mid-life crisis that he was into cooking Chinese stir fry in the new wok and smoking meats in the new smoker, but that was short-lived.
Help your mother with the dishes. I resented having to help with dishes, because I never saw Dad pick up a dish. Why should I? Each time I made it into some conspiracy theory.
Grandma never learned to drive. That would have allowed her too many freedoms. When her children were older, she started working at a nursing home. Every week she handed over her entire check too grandpa, and was not given an allowance out of her own money until she demanded $5 out each check. She worked 3rd shift was still expected to cook all the meals and do the laundry.
Now I’m head of household. I don’t have children nor do I want children. I work full-time in a stereotypically female dominated profession—nursing and have a masters degree that would allow me to work in another stereotypically female profession--teaching. I’m a woman in relationship with a woman. I do what I want to do when I want to do it. I still hate doing dishes. And even though I claim to be all post-modern, I don’t know much about cars or mechanical things. I leave household repairs to my more stereotypical butch partner.
I didn’t want to be like my grandmother or my mother. I wanted to be the boss. And perhaps their traditional gender roles instilled in me the fear of what could be and what I didn’t what. Somehow I identified more with my father’s role. I understood the inequality of roles and where the power laid. I wanted to be the one with the power. And now I look at the inequality that I contribute to my own relationship. We’re both women. But I make more money. She makes a majority of meals, does most of the cleaning. And I expect things, because I’m the one putting in the “work” hours. Maybe the inequality is more about money and less about gender. Whoever has the most money wins? Why don’t I give my partner an allowance? After all she washes my dirty chonies.
Had I been born 10 years earlier, would things have been different for me? I do what I want to do. But I think perhaps this is possible because of all the other bitchy, Birkenstock wearing women who paved the way. There were not the same environmental or cultural obstacles impeding my progress. I really do have a choice.
The lives that women lead now were only recently made possible. There are still gender role expectations and inequalities that we take for granted because it’s so encultured in the way we do things and how things have been and always have been. And it’s all based on higher levels of testosterone and a larger appendage. Penis verses Vagina.
In 1962, my aunt was unable to take a drafting class in high school because she had a vagina. During that same time, it was required that vaginas had to wear certain length dresses—even in the winter.
All penises were able to vote before any vaginas could vote. How long do you think before the Presidential office will be desecrated by a bleeding vagina? Penises still dominate high paying corporate jobs and government offices of power and political influence. A vagina running for office is placed under a different type scrutiny. The public doesn’t necessarily want to see the same qualities of a powerful penis in a vagina. Because it’s un-vagina-like.
Women have only been able to vote since 1920. Prior to 1936, birth control information was deemed obscene. In 1963, it was made illegal to pay a woman less than a man for the same job. These are only dates when the laws changed. Just because the laws changed, doesn’t mean the mindset or attitude about these things changed. Nor does it mean the laws were actually enforced.
Cialis, Levitra and Viagra treat erectile dysfunction. Name a medication that treats female sexual dysfunction or a woman’s inability to achieve orgasm. Where is our pill for that? It doesn’t exist. In 2003, less than half the states required health insurances to cover oral contraceptives for women. Yet Viagra was widely accepted and covered by health insurances. In July 2008, Fox News' Bill O'Reilly asserted: "Viagra is used to help a medical condition -- that's why it's covered. Birth control is not a medical condition, it is a choice.”
http://mediamatters.org/research/200807200002 Wow.
Society views vaginas that allow their armpit and leg hair to grow out as unhygienic and lazy rather than natural. Look at all the body products designed to remove hair. But it’s okay for the penis to have a hairy back. It’s natural. It grows there.
Vaginas are socially conditioned to start wearing bras as soon as those breast buds peek out. It’s unsightly to have sagging breasts or breasts that flop around. Keep that shit wrapped up. But what about penises that hang low or bulge? Where’s the cockholder? And what about penises showing off their man-boobs in the summer? Oooh, look at that A-cup hottie.
My grandmother and mother came from a long line of full blooded vaginas. I’m full blooded vagina. I deserve reparation for past and current discrimination of women. Every woman born with a vagina should get a check. Imagine how rich and powerful we could have been, had our mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers been allowed to do the things we do everyday.
And just for writing this blog, I’m probably flagged as some bulldyke feminist bitch, because these are really non-issues.
I still want my check. Maybe it could be a check mark box on my tax return.
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