to have, or not to have: babies

Sorry it's been a while: I've been too busy being lazy and watching bad television and reading my new Kindle to think of anything sex or feminism related. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday, and that you've got splendid New Year's plans (I think mine involve a bottle of moscato and conspicuous amounts of food and Meatball, so perhaps yours are more exciting).

Anyway. Onto something that's been regretably on my mind all the fucking time lately: babies!

I was never subject to the baby craziness I've seen in  classmates and acquaintances when I was younger. I liked kids well enough, as nearly every job I've ever had involved them, but was adamant about not wanting any little brats of my own (I even wrote it in my high school yearbook blurb: I intended to be wildly successful "and not have babies."). Frankly, I just couldn't understand why people wanted children: was it hubris, thinking their genes were fantastic enough to pass on their own brand of madness? Was it to satisfy the urge to leave something behind after one dies? Or is it just what's expected next, after graduation and meeting someone with genetic material that you don't find repulsive? I point blank asked my mama, and her only answer was, "Well, why not?" This from a woman with three unplanned pregnancies. I intended to be child-free, not childless.

And honestly, I'm not any further along into understanding the logical why people want to bring kids into this world (so expensive! The world's so over-populated! There's so much genetic misery for me to pass on!). I'm not sure there is one. But suddenly, within the last three months, I find myself wanting a baby in the worst way, almost longing for it. Don't get me wrong: I've got an Implanon in my arm, and I intend to keep it in for quite some time, as having a child anytime soon would just not work, as I have approximately -$32,000 thanks to student loans. Nonetheless, my body wants a baby in the worst way. It's frighteningly instinctual.

I always thought the "biological clock" talk was bullshit, mostly old women who were sad they'd missed out on their reproductive years or something that traditional old doctors yapped about to encourage heteronormative families and all that. But now I'm not so sure. In any case, it scares me that this urge has come up so suddenly and with such strength: there's so much I want to do with my life, and traditional gender roles remain firmly entrenched, making me worry if I could have kids and still do awesome stuff (write books, ensure world peace, write the best feminist porn you've ever seen, normal stuff) with my precious short life.

I read Get To Work...And Get a Life, Before It's Too Late by Linda Hirshman for funsies at the beginning of this semester, which is kind of elitist, but holds that well-educated women do not belong at home raising their kids, they belong out there in the workforce, making an impact and forcing more equality between the sexes in hetero-marriages. She even advocates going on "reproductive strike" and having only one child if there's any risk to your career. I don't know how much I agree with the details of what she says (again, she is incredibly elitist and continually puts down the work of women who stay-at-home, saying it could be done by anyone with no education at all, as if that's the only marker of worthwhile work), but it scares me and makes me think about how one can possibly find a balance between career and family, especially in hetero relationships where the default puts the brunt of the work on the woman and undervalues her career.

This has mostly been my babbling about personal baby-provoked anxieties, but do you have any thoughts about this? Any of you heard your biological clock ticking away more strongly all of a sudden? Any thoughts about how to be awesome and a mom?

Much love,
The Sheriff

merry christmas!

Merry Christmas! Enjoy this break, and spend it with people you love.
Much love,
The Sheriff

a bit of advice to the class of 2015

I feel like a massive old timer saying this, but some of the girls who were in the summer program I worked for the past two years have just been admitted to Smith as part of the class of 2015 (Congratulations)! While many of the other girls I'm sure will end up at other fabulous colleges, I wanted to give them a lil shout-out here with some advice for first years. I'm proud of ya'll!

Take some ridiculous classes (Tango? Engineering for Everyone? Nazi Cinema? Why not!). Be nice to everyone, even the hipsters, but don't worry about staying BFFs with the first people you meet at college (you will realize after three months that you have virtually nothing in common). Go to class, but also recognize that most professors will not notice if you miss a class or two. Drink, but do it with people you trust to carry you home when you hit the gin a little too hard (or, alternately, make friends with people who you trust not to give a shit if you don't want to drink). TALK TO YOUR PROFESSORS (mostly so they can write you kick-ass recommendations later). Please don't participate in the "I'm so stressed and sleep deprived" competition that goes on at elite colleges; it only makes you boring, and you will never win (the engineers and studio art majors always win). Brush your teeth after a hard night of drinking (you will thank me for that one the morning after when you don't have cotton mouth and dragon breath). MASTURBATE. Take advantage of the free gym as a source of stress relief, but accept that you will gain weight (I burst a button off my pants at a tea my first year with the college president, no shame in it!).Go to Herrel's and get the chocolate whip cream on your ice cream (where you will gain weight and enjoy every calorie).

Participate in the ridiculous/lovely traditions at your college (at Smith, Convocation, Mountain Day, Julia Child Day, Celebration, Immorality), if only to say that you've done them. Take care of your friends, and not just when you go out and they need protection from creeps: bring them cough meds when they're sick, and tissues when their doomed long-distance relationship ends (hint: it will be close to Thanksgiving). DON'T waste your time at the Amherst Luau (it's the first party of the year in the Five College area, and it's full of creeps...and really, don't waste your time at Amherst, as most of the men are douches and the girls are trophy wives and most of the parties get broken up by the cops). On that note, cooperate with cops and Public Safety. Buy a good winter coat and rainboots. GOOF OFF a little goddammit, these years are short. Your grades matter waaaay less than you think they do. Have sex with whoever you want (fuck the SLUG [Smith Lesbian Until Graduation] label, if you want to experiment with girls, GO FOR IT! But don't date or bone a senior without thinking it over, they're often preying on fresh first years), but do it safely, and only when you want to. Accept that you will be broke 90% of the time from buying crap you didn't need. Learn how to use public transportation. Take good notes in class, but learn how to skim the readings (the details are never that important). Sleep enough (you will be a better person for it). Buy a vibrator at Oh My. Swim in the science quad fountain!

Any other advice, wizened Smithies?
Much love,
The Sheriff

links

This man turned down a threesome with his wife. Way to listen to your gut!

A horrible, mean critic's comments about a ballerina's body draw some serious backlash (as they should!). As a former dancer, I find it abhorrent that emaciation is still a requirement for success in the field.

As a lover of nudity, I fully agree that everyone looks better naked. But I also agree with BeautySchooled's points that if designers took curves into account, perhaps we'd look (and feel!) fantastic all the time.

How to be a body image role model!

A man has been cured of AIDS using stem cells? Extremely exciting stuff! 

I'm not sure what this is an ad for, but I laugh my ass off everytime. Japanese kittehs!

Why Michael Moore is being a piece of shit.

Much love,
The Sheriff

the impact of perception

It would be lovely if, in regards to the realm of sex and sexuality, no one judged anyone else and we all just followed our desires and explored without a care about how it might be perceived. Fortunately or unfortunately, perception is HUGE in sexuality. How you cast certain acts--vanilla, kinky, "good girls don't do that,"--has an enormous impact on your enjoyment of them, or your ability to indulge in them at all.

Right around the debut of this blog, I remember being in a car, driving to what was surely a delightful frat party with some other FF writers, talking about (SURPRISE) sex, and in this case, threesomes with men in particular. When I told them I hadn't found it to be extremely fun (less pampering, more of a seesaw), there was an instant sense of awe, like "ooo, she's actually done this!" Mentioning my bisexuality in mixed company often elicits similar responses: instead of just accepting it as a fact of who I am or asking about my relationships with people of the same gender, the typical reaction (including from MY MAMA) is something like "So you have sex with girls? Wow!" Or, as being bi is seen as a "perk" by most straight men, it turns inevitably to moderately coercive talk about threesomes (men, for the record: the dudes who push for threesomes are rarely the ones who get them!). Although being sexually curious to try new things and pretty open-minded has lead to a lot of orgasms for me and some sexual street-cred, I find myself downplaying that aspect of me so as to not be pigeon-holed as much (and as a busty blonde, it happens often enough without me even opening my mouth).

On the other hand, wanting to perform things seen as "freakier" can lead to feelings of...well, being a freak or unnaturally lustful. Meatball is a fantastic lover, but whenever conversations about sex turn to what we want to try, he always says he's just happy that he gets to have sex with me (aw), whereas I'm more of a "can you spank me, bite my nipples, oh, and maybe lick my ass sometimes?" kind of woman. Though he never complains about what I ask for, I do feel like the pervert. And for people without the healthy sexual attitude of "fuck you" that I've developed, that can lead to feelings of shame or a lack of being able to open up yourself to other people. And that is no way to go through life.

So what can we do? Maybe work on not making assumptions or classifying things as quickly as we might be tempted to. Being open-minded.

What say you? Have you ever run into this?

Much love,
The Sheriff

feminist gift guide!

I must admit, one of my favorite things about this time of year is all the gift buying and giving, and looking at gift guides for ingenious ideas (which I inevitably end up ignoring, because they're too expensive or assume that all fathers love golf and grills while mamas adore pedicures and candles, which doesn't help me buy for me ex-hippie parents). Although the Sheriff won't be having a traditional Christmas this year (my parents will be out of the country! Crazy!), I thought I'd contribute some ideas for those of you buying for the lovely feminist in your life (you can also buy them for me out of sympathy, since I'll be ever so lonely this holiday season...).

There's the iconic tee for the loud-and-proud, This Is What a Feminist Looks Like. It comes in all sorts of colors and sizes and styles, so it's great for menfolk/trans individuals/ladies who don't want a super-tight tee clinging to their chest.

luxury sex toys...mmm

The Sheriff is, of course, a serious fan of sex toys as presents for any and all occasions (Christmas, Hanukkah, weddings, graduations, baby showers...), and Babeland is an extremely woman-friendly place to buy from. For the toy novice, something small and less daunting is a great choice, like this little guy. If you're looking more for something to share with a male lover and to introduce him to toys in the bedroom, the duet cock ring is a lot of fun. If you're really serious about your lover (and I mean SERIOUS), there's the JimmyJane eternity vibe, which is made of platinum and clocks in at over $3000 (twice the price of my car, but perhaps worth it for the ultimate orgasm?).

If your lovely feminist is the readin' type, maybe spring for a subscription to BUST or Bitch, two great feminist magazines. Or be cheap and just refer them to this fantastic feminist blog, Fornicating Feminists (see what I did there? Sneaky self-promotion!).

Of course, you could get her a delightful Diva Cup. But since menstruation is (understandably) a little personal, maybe only buy her one if you know she's been thinking about it/needs a new one.

Finally, if you're buying for a philanthropic person (or you're just clueless about what material goodies they're pining for/needing), you could be an outstanding person and make a donation in their name to a cause they support. I like Kiva, which allows you to make mico-loans directly to a person or group in another country to help them build up their business so they can support themselves (donate to women!). Of course, there are also thousands of other worthy causes out there that are often in dire need of financial support, so find out what they care about (Animals? A religious groups' efforts? Disaster relief? Reproductive rights? Education?), and go nuts.

Happy gifting!
Much love,
The Sheriff

cut it out: fat talk and why it's not just bad for you

Smith College (and Albright House in particular, of course) is often a shining utopia of what the world would be like if everyone was tolerant and diverse and loved gays and themselves and no one ever said bad things about their body and everyone complimented each other relentlessly. But it is also a place where eating disorders are rampant, and people put ugly amounts of pressure on themselves academically, physically, and emotionally, and where women bitch at the dinner table about how fat they are and the calories in their food to groups of their friends.

Fat talk is one of the things I hate most in this world. It seems innocent enough: everyone has those days where they feel that their thighs look like tree trunks, and they want to moan to their friends about it until everyone collapses in and gives them what they want: assurance. Assurance that you are good, beautiful, smart, not nearly as hideous as you think, and even that your thighs are quite lovely. But do you ever really feel good after that dousing of compliments? Do you ever think your friends feel good after you cast the critical light on your own body and caloric intake, encouraging them to do the same to their own? It only drags you down, and everyone along with you.

This past April, this wonderful blog post came out about how when we capitulate to the beauty standards and hate on our bodies, ALL WOMEN suffer. I never realized this more clearly than when my niece was born. At six years old now, she's a normal-sized, happy girl but I wonder how long that can last (even living in Humboldt County, CA). Will she be able to maintain that innocently high self-esteem that has nothing to do with her appearance? I hope so.

Anyway, here's the more eloquent version of what I'd like to say.

Your surrender is significant

To my fellow females:

For every one of you who capitulates to unfair standards of beauty, it is THAT MUCH HARDER for the rest of us to resist.

When you deny yourself food when you are hungry, when you call yourself names, when you spend way too much money on clothing and makeup, when you let yourself feel guilty for eating dessert, when you spend more time and money than you can afford to on bringing your appearance into line with The Man's dictates, IT AFFECTS US TOO.

It affects me. It affects my friends. It affects my younger sister and my little cousins.

Stop judging your worth by your appearance, like you're some collector's doll or a show dog. Stop doing things that you think are stupid just because it's culturally mandated. Stop accepting standards of beauty without asking where they come from, what they signify, what you think of them. Stop, stop, stop.

Don't you see, this heaviness you feel, we all feel it and for us part of the heaviness is what you have added by complying? And yes, some of your heaviness is my fault. It belongs to me too.

Your compliance is significant. Your surrender carries weight. Your capitulation is not just personal.

I am angry, yes. At myself too. (I promise there's never an imperative statement or word of advice on this blog that I don't write for myself as well as for you.)

I'm going to keep saying no to all this bullshit, even when it hurts and it's really tiring. I'm going to look my reflection in the eye even when it's all wrong, and I'm not going to say that I FEEL FAT like "fat" is an actual emotion. I'm not going to idolize sick women while calling myself a feminist. I'm going to eat as much as I need and I'm going to keep it down, and I'm going to do what I want to do even when I'm not confident in my appearance.

I don't want to come off like I'm saying I'm a saint, somehow stronger than all this and above all this. Frankly, some days I feel like I cannot deal with myself and these pressures, and please, I still struggle with disordered eating to an extent; I know what poison is like.

But I need this defiance even more. I need to know that I am not making this society any more oppressive for those of us born with two X chromosomes.

And you see, the flip side is this: if your surrender means something, then your defiance means even more.

Living within the lie can constitute the system only if it is universal ... therefore everyone who steps out of line denies it in principle and threatens it in its entirety ... As soon as the alternative appears, it threatens the very existence of appearance and living a lie in terms of what they are, both their essence and their all-inclusiveness. And at the same time, it is utterly unimportant how large a space this alternative occupies: its power does not consist in its physical attributes but in the light it casts on those pillars of the system and on its unstable foundations.

- Václav Havel

So if you decide to give the finger to The Man and his beauty culture, I'll be there with you. We can stand together and wave at the horizon and tell each other when we notice one of us starting to cave, and then help hold each other up. You won't be there alone. Promise.



Much love,
The Sheriff