Wedding Woes November 9, 2009

Michelle posted recently about the constant “buzz” of wedding planning that exists in her head.

Well, girl, let me just say “WORD.”

I didn’t get it before I was engaged. I didn’t. I don’t think I could have. It’s just one of those things that you just don’t understand before you enter the tulle covered, bedazzled, tiara-ed world of The Bride. Where I once remember being puzzled over “bride diets” (because, really? why try and makeover your body for a party?) now I admit one of the biggest spurs in my side pushing me to the produce aisle and the gym is that white dress hanging in my bridal salon’s “Received” area. {Side note, my dress is in!!! Squee!! I’m making plans for a first fitting in January!!}

Before I spent my free time blogging, or reading, or learning stuff, or making “Shaba Loves Me” t-shirts for a few Very Important People. Now, if I have a few moments of free time I spend it looking at wedding porn. StyleMePretty, a Practical Wedding, The Brides Guide. I spend hours  staring at West Coast brides who always seem to have way better luck at thrift stores than I ever do. I spend hours looking for “things” for my wedding. I have lists upon lists of “things” to do,  “things” to research, “things” to try and “things” to buy. And after every tiny check I put on my ever-expanding task list I feel a little more defeated. Because it never really turns out the way I imagined.

I’m terrified that my wedding, the vision I’ve had since April and have worked on peice by peice like a little bird building a nest, will become passe before it has taken place. I’m afraid that my handiwork, my vendors, and my wedding won’t be the “wedding blog worthy” wedding I imagine it to be. I’m afraid that my non-theme theme of Stuff I’ve Always Liked That Just Happens To Be Trendy Right Now will become a snore, trendy and “So Last Season” by the time June 12th rolls around. And I know it shouldn’t matter. I know I should just do whatever the hell I want because I CAN. And it’s MY (our, really) Day Dammit. And I will. I just wish I knew it would all turn out the way it looks in my head, I wish I had an insurance policy for the beauty and fun quotient of my wedding. Dear Flo From Progressive, can we get a quote on that?

I just want it to live up to the image I have in my head.

And though I know, I KNOW it’ll be fine and wonderful and The Best Day ever because at the end of the night I’ll be married….I can’t seem to shut up the little wedding ‘zilla inside my head.

So, tell me something good.

And don’t use the word “wedding.”

 

Free Time and Ring Equality April 9, 2009

One of the best things about being done with my thesis is that I now have the luxury of free time. Over the weekend I watched a bad lifetime movie, made cookies and started packing up my less useful stuff for the impending move. It was glorious. In the last few days I’ve read two books and started two more. I’ve been adding new blogs to my reader, my new favorites being Hope Dies Last, PrettyHowTown, and A Cautionary Blog and I’ve been giddy with anticipation over the coming weekend. The Boy is coming and that means Things Will Be Happening. Or at least I’m 98% sure they will. He’s teasing me something awful. Last night the following text message exchange took place:

The Boy: Engagement plans developed further today. You’re totally gonna poop yourself.
Shaba: How in the world are plans still developing? Fairies? Rainbows?
A little later….
The Boy: So I got the fairies and rainbows booked. Also midgets with confetti. And aerosmith.
Shaba: I’d prefer Ani to Aerosmith.
The Boy: Who’s planning this?

Kids, this sort of shenanigan has been happening daily. It’s enough to drive an impatient, semi-control-freak girl crazy. In a good way. I’m very in the dark about what’s going on. I haven’t been able to weasel and information out of my friends and The Boy has been tightlipped, aside from the teasing. The silver lining to all this (you know, besides the big freaking I’MGETTINGENGAGEDOMG silver lining) is that I get to play an active role in this whole experience too.

I’m giving The Boy a ring. The traditional and, let’s be real here-sexist usage of the engagement ring would make me a “spoken for” female. I’ll be officially off the market, so to speak. Amazing how dating lingo diminishing people down to objects or cattle. Taken. Spoken for. Off the market. The engagement ring serves as a big sparkly warning sign to potential suitors that I am not available. I am out of stock. I “belong” to someone else. Am I the only one who shuddered at that last sentence? Right. So, the whole belonging to someone else and publicly acknowledging that idea via strategic diamond ring placement has never really seemed fair to me.

So, logically, I should be anti-engagement ring. The problem is, I’m not. I want one. I was raised with the Disney princesses and I DO want to wear a sparkly ring. I’d probably feel a little jipped if I didn’t have the quintessential female experience I’ve been brainwashed into thinking I MUST HAVE. I’m not afraid to admit that. I’ve been a women’s studies scholar for years and by now I’m able to call a spade a spade. I wear heels. I shave my legs. I engaged in sexist practices daily—but I acknowledge them for what they are. So while I do want to wear a ring, I want to do it with at least some guise of equality. I don’t think that I should be the only one spoken for during the engagement stage. Why should I be the only one with a symbol of love and intention? Why is it ok for a man to walk around seemingly single? Thankfully The Boy feels this way too. He’s excited to wear his own engagement ring and I am thrilled to bits about it. I feel that this way we’re in it together. Because really, WE will be engaged, not just me.

And I can not wait.

For those of you wondering about the housing situation we put in an application on a house yesterday. It has lilacs in the yard. I am pleased.

Good Better Best February 9, 2009

Good: Needing additional chairs for the Vagina Monologues

Better:Moaning on stage to thunderous applause

Best: Hearing some gal confuse the WASP moan with the mosquito moan.

Good: Fake orgasms

Better: Real orgasms

Best: Multiple real orgasms

Good: Hanging out with LC after Monologues

Better: Hanging out with LC, her boy toy, The Boy and beer.

Best: Doing it all while watching Bill and Ted and eating popcorn.

Good: Boys with curly hair.

Better: Boys with curly hair in button downs.

Best: Boys with curly hair in button downs and sweaters. Dashing.

Good: Falling asleep on his chest

Better: Falling asleep holding hands.

Best: Knowing that we’ll get to fall asleep like that every night come May.

Good: Avenue Q on a Sunday afternoon.

Better: Being the last riders of the Chocolate World Ride.

Best: Finishing the day with an Oreo Sundae.

Good: Valentines Day plans in D.C.

Better: Valentines Day plans in D.C. at this hotel.

Best: Only having 5 days to wait for said plans to materialize…and getting to see The Boy again.

PS-Good Better Best always makes me think of the little diddy, “Good,  better,  best.  Never let it rest, until your good is better and your better best!

And another thing I feel bad admitting… December 3, 2008

I don’t like A Christmas Carol.

I’ve never liked this story. I don’t like Dickens. I don’t like the name Ebenezer and all of its crappy remake nicknames. I hate the damn 3 ghosts and the “error of my ways” bullshit.  The only version I can sort of stand is the Disney one with Scrooge McDuck, because I like Scrooge McDuck.

Over the thanksgiving weekend I had the unfortunate experience of catching bits and pieces of the A Christmas Carol Lifetime network rip off “Ebbie” starring Susan Lucci. I didn’t see the film in its entirety, and I have no desire to, but the bit I did see grated on my nerves. In this particular scene “Ebbie” canceled on her boy toy’s planned vacation because she was just informed of a shiny new project she was put in charge of for her job. She was obviously excited about the position, yet saddened because she’d miss her vacay since she needed to start right away. Her lovely boyfriend decided that this was a reason to break up with her, because, as it is my understanding, she picked her job over him.

Now, without getting into the whole “but Ebenezer was a cruel money-hungry man who did nothing for his employees and what about poor Tiny Tim?!” which I am well aware of, I kinda think Ebbie’s boyfriend is a bit unreasonable. What’s so wrong with enjoying your job, being good at your job, and being excited over a new facet of your job to the point that you’d rather work then jet off to Kokomo with a guy? We, as the audience, are supposed to implore Ebbie, “Don’t work on that cool project, go hang out with the cute (by ‘95’s standards) boy who packed your luggage for you! Work will be there when you get back! So what if you fail to get a promotion or meet your career goals, you’ll be with a GUY!”

Sorry.

No.

Maybe I’m a capitalist at heart but money makes my world go round. And truthfully, any guy who would fly the coop when I canceled plans in the name of work (more so work that I was EXCITED about than “Oh, damn it, I have to work and I’m too lazy to argue for the time off” work) is not someone I’d want in my life anyway. Ebbie is passionate about her job, she was excited at her new opportunity; but because she ranked that higher than her relationship in this particular situation, she gets the shaft. I wonder, if the situation was reversed, how it would go down. Am I delusional to think that if my significant other canceled plans with me because he had an opportunity for advancement that he was super stoked about I’d be more ‘Woohoo! Go you! I’m so happy for you! We’ll make plans again soon, don’t worry about it, go do your thing!” I think many women would be all, “Well it sucks our plans changed, but awww, look at my provider being all good at his job!”

But when it’s a woman making the same choice we’re all, “How awful! That poor sweet man! He better break up with her because she’s a heartless selfish bitch.”

Now, of course, no matter what the sex of the person if one person continually picks work or anything over their significant other there’s a problem. But it seems like women get penalized way more harshly than men when they don’t adhere to their expected relationship gender roles.

In closing I say, “Boo on You, Ebbie. Boo on You.”

Letter Series: Commercial Editions November 23, 2008

Dear Kelly Ripa,
I was already envious of your life. You didn’t have to rub it in with fancy dancer kitchen commericials and bewitched theme songs. Thanks for continuing the Super Woman myth. You’ve made it clear that we can hold down a job, raise a family, run a household, volunteer for charity, and do it all while dancing backwards in heels and keeping a size two figure. Also, thanks for the hint about keeping our lovers in the know about our bedroom plans by strategic meal choices. “If Mark sees me order a salad he knows he’s getting lucky, if I order filet mignon, he starts to sulk.”
Sincerely,
Girl Who Preferred Elizabeth Montgomery

Dear Glade,
Please explain to me why anyone would a) brag about the origin of their candles b) invite friends over for video yoga and c) think they could get away with scented candles as replacements for baked goods.
Also, gingerbread men should only talk in Shrek. Otherwise it’s just creepy.
Yours,
Ms. “I Got It On Sale at Target!”

PS-You should talk to the Airwick people. Tell them kangaroos are not soothed by candles.

Dear Annoying and Rude Anti-Corn Syrup Woman,
WTF? If someone said, “You must not care about what the kids eat” to me I’d be slapping a bitch not retorting with, “What do you mean?” Seriously. Also, HFCS is gross. Even if it’s made from corn.
Thank you for smoking eating corn syrup,
Shaba “Corn is For Cows” Blogger

Dear Brooke Sheilds,
Please go away. Take the talking car with you.
No love,
Me

My Mind Let Off It’s Leash November 19, 2008

First things first. Today is blog swap day, but my partner and I decided to wait until tomorrow. Because we’re too cool to follow the rules. And we were a little late on the uptake due to a terrible ninja/technology malfunction (Read: We didn’t get around to making our game plan til last night). However the plans have been laid, and there is some super kickass-edry on the bill for Thursday. Seriously. You’ll be blown away. You won’t know what hit you. Unless you guessed “pure blogtastic awesomesauce,” then you’d know what hit you.

I digress.

I’m in a loopy mood today.

I had big ambitions to post about the upcoming holiday season. I was going to inform you that I’m a giving person and I’m going to go pick a poor unfortunate soul off the “Giving Tree” and buy a present for a little girl I’d have to imagine in the image of Cindy Lou-Who. But then I figured I’d have to admit that I really just want an excuse to buy something from the pink aisle of the toy store, but nothing Bratz related because I hate those damn dolls. And then I’d probably think of how annoying the pink aisle is. I mean, all little girls don’t magically like pink. Why isn’t it the orange isle or the green isle? And then I’d probably try and find something non-gendered so I wouldn’t contribute to the sexist practices of child rearing like those damn Rose Petal Cottages where the little girl is SUPER EXCITED to do laundry, which obviously means she’s never heard her mother say, “wear those pants again tomorrow, I don’t want to wash them until they stand up on their own.” So I’d have to look around and find some kind of toy that wasn’t gendered and wasn’t dumb and wasn’t a bazillion dollars. So the kid would probably end up with something educational, like those Coloring Workbooks that are supposed to teach kids their times tables, and an erector set. But then I’d have to put back the erector set because I wouldn’t be able to get past the “erect” part and isn’t building towers sorta phallic? And then I’d have a coloring book about math, so I may as well throw in some crayons. But I’d have to open them to make sure there weren’t any dumb colors, like “Indian red” because I feel the need to be PC when buying present for poor kids. So I’d have crayons and a coloring book about math. And I would officially be the worse present giver ever. So I’d probably have to put a few bills in between the pages of the coloring book. And then I’d feel like a creepy drug dealer, so I’d take my money back but then I’d feel like I jipped this poor kid who won’t open anything but my damn times table coloring book and crayons.

So I’d probably end up buying Veterinarian Barbie and calling it day.

Score: Sexist Commercialism 1; Good Intentioned Feminist 0.

Reality Television & Women: A Semi-Intelligent Post November 13, 2008

Since yesterday was my token “I’m in Blogher under the category Relationships I should probably write something about boys” post, today it’s time to fulfill my “I’m in Blogher under Feminism/Gender” quota.*  So today I’m gonna talk about reality television.

In a recent discussion with my lovely mentor, I had an entertainment epiphany. The majority of reality television stars are women. Almost all** reality spin-off stars are women. New York (I Love New York), Adrian (Top Model turned Surreal Life turned My Fair Brady), The Charm School women, The Bachelorette, Elisabeth Hasselbeck, a contestant on Survivor: The Australian Outback, now a full time member of The View; and Kristin Cavallari, who went from Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County, to become a television host and actress and in Britain, Jade Goody went from Big Brother 3 to selling books and a perfume line, among others. Let’s not forget the household names of Amorosa, Kim Kardashian, LC, Audrina, The God Warrior and probably the biggest reality stars-Paris and Nicole. And as we can see, a lot of these ladies became successful due to their stint on reality television.

Unfortunately, we made them successful by making them continue to prove to us that they are ridiculous, catty, and in some opinions, crazy. Besides maybe Hasselbeck (and that’s up for debate—remember the “Rosiegate” situation) all of these women have at some point done something so “outrageous” that America wanted to keep watching them. And because if you give the people train wrecks, the people will watch, TV execs decided these women deserved their own shows.

I can’t decide if it’s admirable or depressing. Part of me wants to applaud these women for their cunning business skills; their ability to turn their 15 minutes of fame into an hour (or two if you’re Paris—why won’t she just stay off my tv?!) They played up the stereotypes, the drama, and the girl fights in order to capitalize on the buzz these things generate. They succeeded in out earning a lot of their male reality co-stars. For this, I respect them. However, I cannot say with any certainty that their moves were indeed calculated. I can’t know for sure that they stepped on the stage with the intention of making this their big break and playing up the stereotypes and cattiness in order for the payout. To the contrary I think in some cases, they were just being themselves. I think some of them really were trying to fall in love with Flava Flav (WHY?! Good god, why?!), I think some of them really are self-absorbed and completely materialistic and morally retarded. And that my friends, makes the feminist in me cringe.

I think it’s despicable that so many of these shows pit women against one another, sometimes even stripping them of their names and making them compete in “challenges” about who can pose for the best calendar shot (Flavor of Love). Even the shows that are not directly involved in romance, like Top Model, end up pitting the girls against each other. And I understand it’s a competition, but shouldn’t the focus be more about individually taking the best photo rather than bad-mouthing the other girls and hoping they fail at looking “fierce?”

This phenomenon doesn’t occur to the same extent when the casts are mixed gender. And, maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t think of a single show that had a completely male cast (tell me if there is such a show, I’d be interested in watching and comparing).

I’d venture to guess that women make up the primary viewing audience of most reality shows, which may or may not be true but it seems I hear way more women talking about “The Hills” than men. I’m not sure why this is, and I’m not going to make any remark about women being the caretakers through millennia and thus having a keener sense of awareness in the lives of others, but the fact remains that the female gender tends to be more interested in the lives of other individuals than the male gender. Case in point: Blogging. Primarily dominated by women, if you stick to the “life blogger” genre. We enjoy following the daily life of other people, no matter how unglamorous their lives, just the fact that they are the “other” makes them interesting.

With all these women, most of which are intelligent, educated individuals, captivated by the realness of reality television, why haven’t we started to make shows that inspire positive change?*** Think of the power this has, think of the changes we could make if the reality television medium was directed in a positive way. If we used reality television for good instead of evil…well, we might be able to do more for humanity in general.

*I know there’s no real “quota” but sometimes I imagine new readers finding my blog and thinking, “this has nothing to do with gender/relationships..peace out!” But then again if you still say peace out you’re probably stilling donning a scrunchie and I can no longer respect your opinion. Oh 1992. What a good year.

** “A Real Chance At Love” or whatever the hell that show is called is the only show I can think of where male cast members were crazy enough to warrant their own spin off.

***Yes I know there’s been Oprah’s Big Give and Extreme Makeover Home Edition on the “good for humanity” side but the scales are still tipped in the direction of train wrecks (My New BFF?! Come on!)

Happy Halloween From Your Friendly Neighborhood Feminist October 29, 2008

I like Halloween.
I like carving pumpkins and thinking up costume ideas. I like the Charlie Brown special.
I like little kids in funny costumes, like my brother who wanted to be a “Scary Carrot” one year.
He didn’t succeed. He was a damn cute carrot. Really, can a three year old in a carrot suit look anything but cute?
I even like candy. Especially that of a chocolate and peanut butter variety.
What I don’t enjoy is that my costume options are limited to “sexy” fill-in-the-blank or witch.
And I know it’s been said many times before, but I’ll say it again:

Halloween Is Not An Excuse To Go Out In Your Underwear.

Unless of course, you want to.

See, me, I’m all about choice.

I’ve been to a lingerie ball. I had a good time. I don’t see anything wrong with hoochin it up one day a year if that’s what rocks your socks. As long as you feel empowered, have at it.

Just remember that it’s the attention that makes you feel empowered. (Warning: WS rant ahead) See, the problem with using the “I wear make up/dress sexy/strip/etc. because I like to do it and it makes me feel empowered,” argument is the fact that we live in a patriarchal society. Perhaps you believe you are participating in these things because YOU want to, but really, when culture is screaming “SEX! BEAUTY! YOU MUST FOLLOW THESE RULES IF YOU HAVE 2 X CHROMOSOMES!” it’s hard to really be sure where our personal desires end and socialization begins.

Maybe you really DO like walking around outside in the dark in 40 degree weather dressed in overpriced slivers of low quality fabric.

Or maybe you just want to be seen as The Hot Girl for a night. Maybe you want to turn heads, because that’s what A Real Woman, in our society, is supposed to do. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to achieve the culturally elevated status of a female. Just as there’s nothing really wrong with wanting to be the culturally elevated picture of masculinity-tough, strong, big, Superman/John Wayne/etc.

The problem is that these culture ideals exist.

/rant.

What I’m concerned about is the fact that there really doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of options for those costume friendly chicas who’d prefer their bits to be covered on fright night.

Really what comes to mind? Nun. Witch. Grandma. Bum. Umm. Well, that about covers it.

As for me, this year I’ll be spending Halloween with The Boy. There’s a possibility we’ll be attending a party. We haven’t decided what we’ll go as, but I’ve been throwing out ideas: Salt and Pepper shakers, Sonny and Cher, House and Cuddy (he wears a lab coat, walks with a cane and pops tic-tacs from a prescription bottle all night, I wear a button down and a pencil skirt and glare at him a lot), imaginary creatures (tooth fairy and Santa clause, tooth fairy and Easter bunny, tooth fairy and a decent political candidate…I just like the idea of being the tooth fairy).

But I do know that whatever we choose to do, if we go the costume route, my bits will be covered.

Because, well, I get cold.

I’ll let you know what we come up with.

Humming the Blues: A Review October 29, 2008

Marge Piercy. Elizabeth Bronte Browning. Edna St. Vincent Milay. Barbara DeCesare. Lauren Carey. These are women whose poetry I love. Some of them you may know. Some of them, well they haven’t yet received the attention they deserve. All of these poets have written words that spoke to me. They’ve all strung together lines so beautiful I’ve had to catch my breath. And now, having read Cass Dalglish’s translation of the first signed literature in the world, “Humming the Blues,” I can now count the poet Enheduanna among them.

Enheduanna was a poet, prince (they didn’t recognize gendered version of words), and priest of Ur (southeast of Baghdad in present-day Iraq) in the year 2350 BCE. She is the first person in history to sign a name to writing, and she is a woman.

Dalglish’s dedication to this project is astounding. Each symbol of Enheduanna’s Sumerian pictographs have multiple meanings, so the transcription process was no easy task. But it’s clear through her reverence toward the work in her introduction and afterword that the translation was a labor of love. Literature and history owe a lot to Dalglish, since it is only through her translation that Enheduanna’s epic story come to life.

Enheduanna’s story is indeed epic, overthrown from her high ranking position by a usurper and left to wander the hills of Sumar her poems detail a life that rivals legend. Throughout her journey she writes to the God (or Goddess, no gendering, remember) Inanna for help her on her journey. Inanna, a deity who the Sumerians believed reigned over heaven and earth is famous for her trip to hell and back again; and as Enheduanna calls on her for guidance through the song of her words, their legends become forever intertwined.

Though the story in of itself is worth picking up Humming the Blues, the poetry of Enheduanna is even more enthralling. When I first read through the book I started dog-earring the poems I loved. It wasn’t long before almost every page was bent back. Lines like, “You’ve got an eye for trouble/Inanna, you’ve braided danger into your hair and you make it look/glamorous—right up to the moment when you open the floodgates of hell” made me sit back in my chair. The pure feminine power of those lines gave me chills. And even though I’m not making my way to hell and back again, I can relate to Enheduanna’s words.

That is, in essence, the magic of poetry. One beautiful line can mean a thousand different things depending on the reader. Label it reader response, but the lines “But no one bet the drums/for you in that other world; no one knew your song there; no one spoke/of the abundance of your charm,” reminds me of every time in my life I’ve felt like an outcast.

Enheduanna’s words can even be applied to the election! (Ok, just come with me on this.)
This was a land of plenty/a place full of promise, but who knows what to do know? Who’s to say/ what’s coming next?

Ok, so maybe that one’s a stretch, but the point I’m trying to make is that Enheduanna’s poetry is still very relevant. It’s timeless. It’s gorgeous. And it is historically significant. If that’s not enough to make you want to purchase a copy, I’ll leave you with this line, “I was born to scale the mountain of desire.”

So was I Enheduanna.

“Humming the Blues” by Cass Dalglish is available from Calyx Books at www.calyxpress.org.
Thank you to Calyx for allowing me to review this stunning work.

It. October 1, 2008

Yesterday I walked into a complete mess in the ER. It was awful; I was busy the entire 8 hours. And we had a psych patient. Psych patients creep me out. I’m sorry, I just can’t handle it. I don’t do old people well. And crazy old people? Forget it. I found a few minutes to check my text messages and tweets and found a bunch from The Boy including these gems:

The Boy: Shaba At work text message #1. This message is brought to you by my love, which is boundless, and the stain fighting power of Tide with Bleach.

After I said I was so ready to leave (at around 3 hours into my shift).

The Boy: I’d rescue you, underwear outside of the pants and everything.

Life went on. I got very busy with admissions and Dr.’s yelling at me and surgeons making me feel like I was an idiot because I can’t read their minds. I dislike surgeons. A lot. That arrogance and ego they have in Grey’s? Yep. True. Anyway, later, about an hour before my shift was over I received a message that once again reminded me how insanely perfect this boy is for me. It read:

Cleaning product commercials offend me. It’s always women and they always look so happy to be cleaning.

Be still my heart.

After I got out of work and called The Boy this message transitioned into a full on conversation about the ridiculousness of cleaning commercials, Sarah Haskins, and how tween targeted television shows are the work of the devil. Even after hundreds of hours of talking about everything under the sun, we can still talk about everything (and nothing) and the hours fly by. Our relationship is long distance, very long distance. 400 miles of long distance. So we’ve spent a lot of time on the phone, writing emails, and just really communicating. I know what he wants out of life. He knows what I want. Our wants are identical. He makes me laugh, doesn’t get mad at me when I’m grumpy for no real reason, and can handle my neurosis and criticisms of his Gemini personality (The Boy likes to talk. A lot. Sometimes I get irrationally angry when he points out the buildings that reside down every other street. He still loves me.) Add in the fact that he’s got a great HOH, gorgeous eyes, and the ability to me smile within minutes and I can’t imagine wanting anything else in a human being.

I think this could be it my friends. I truly, truly do.