Quick story.
OK so, I was getting dressed for my son-in-law's graduation from law school.
I was in full on Main Line Mom Mode.
Calvin Klein navy sheath dress: Check.
Pumps: Check.
Pearls: Check
Poker straight blowout: Check
Kenneth Cole clutch: Check
I looked in the mirror and thought: "Who in holy, blazing hell is THAT???"
My mother. That's who that is.
Not me. Never me. I'm a tree hugging, hippy-dippy, incense burning, yoga-loving, we-are-our-brother's-keeper, artistic, liberal-independent (ok I voted for Reagan once upon a time, but it was my first time and everyone was doing it!)
It startled me.
I got to thinking. "No, that country club princess is me too." She's in there.
And so is the glamazon, sex goddess of stage and screen. She shares quarters with the super-nerdy history buff who can tell you more about ancient religious customs than you ever wanted to hear. Like, EVER. They live right down the hall from the hard working single mom, who doesn't have time to bake cookies for the bakesale because she's got two god damned jobs, so will you just give her five minutes of quiet, please?!? Right next door is the girl who just wants to sing with the band and dance all night and stumble in at four in the morning with tired feet and a head full of adventurous stories to tell. She likes to have breakfast with the domestic goddess who loves to cook and will feed you until you are fit to burst (and make you a Tupperware of leftovers to take home, because you never know, you might want a nibble later.) She takes care of everyone, especially adventure girl, who does things like ziplining down volcanoes in Costa Rica and running off to Paris for her BFF's 50th birthday. And they all sit down at the table with Writer Chick to sort it all out.
They're all in there. In me. Along with multiple others.
No wonder the poor men in my life have been confused. They were involved in a polygamous relationship without their knowledge. Feel bad for those guys.
Because all of those women, in greater or lesser degrees, require acknowledgement. The biggest relationship fails I've had- and there have been a few - have been because the person with whom I was relating kept trying to fit me in to a category. A box. A pigeon hole. It's suffocating and then I am forced to flee. I have no choice. There is no oxygen in there.
When I've met someone who 'gets' my gypsy soul, (there have been exactly two), despite great love, or at least the potential for artistic power-couplehood, they end up having a gypsy soul of their very own and can't stay. (annnnnd cue broken heart....or at least bruised heart).
My father, who was the smartest human I've ever met, once told me "Tootsie, in relationships you need a string and a kite. If you have two strings they just lay on the ground and no one flies. If you have two kites, they both fly off into space and get lost. But when you have a kite and a string, the string holds the kite steady and the kite lifts the string as far in the air as the string lets it. And thank God for your mother because she's my string. Get yourself a string, TootsiePop. You are a kite."
He wasn't wrong. He got me.
If I ever find someone who gets me like that....I'll love him so hard his head will spin.
And he'll never be bored.
Ever.
Boys have cooties... but seriously...
The mass shooting in Isla Vista has me disturbed.
Deeply.
A woman looks at bullet holes Saturday in the window of IV Deli Mart where part of Friday night’s mass shooting took place in Isla Vista,
Calif. AP/Jae C. Hong
Relax, my more conservative, American friends, I'm not going to go into my usual "we should have reasonable gun safety measures in place" rant. This, despite the facts pointing out that in England, last year, there were shootings in the double digits....meanwhile in Philadelphia, last week, there were also shootings in the double digits. Which means that either gun control laws are effective, or British people couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. You decide.
No, what has upset my soul more than usual is the deeply misogynistic motive behind the shootings and the fact that there is a culture in America that supports it.
From the time we are in first grade and play "Boys vs Girls" games on
the playground our differences can go from making us cooperative and
playful to competitive and sadly, violent.
I've been reading quite a bit about the incident and letting all the information marinate since it happened. Obviously, as an intelligent, thinking woman I'm offended by the so-called "Pick Up Artist" (PUA) community and their ignorant, entitled idea that women were put on this earth to be available to any man in any capacity, regardless of that man's particular merit (or lack thereof). The level of sheer douchebaggery is staggering. What is equally disturbing is that the shooter belonged to an online community that labeled itself 'PUA-Hate', meaning these are men disenfranchised from the PUA movement. One look at their websites immediately reveals that these men aren't upset at the lies and attempted manipulation by these so called pick up artists. (Side note: their tactics would only be effective on very young girls with self esteem issues) These PUA-Haters are upset because those tactics DIDN'T WORK. That's it. Literally: " Boohoo, I didn't get laid by the hot girl." Swear to God, I'm not making this up. Google it.
I will grant you that the gunman was mentally disturbed. It would be easy to dismiss his actions as that of a solitary, fringe lunatic. But the systematic programming and thinking that fueled his rage was neither solitary nor fringe. Laurie Penny stated it well in her excellent article in New Statesman:
"The ideology behind these attacks—and there is ideology—is simple.
Women owe men. Women, as a class, as a sex, owe men sex, love,
attention, “adoration,” in Rodger’s words. We owe them respect and
obedience, and our refusal to give it to them is to blame for their
anger, their violence—stupid sluts get what they deserve. Most of all,
there is an overpowering sense of rage and entitlement: the conviction
that men have been denied a birthright of easy power.
Capitalism commodifies that rage, monetizes it, disseminates it
through handbooks and forums and crass mainstream pornography. It does
not occur to these men that women might have experienced these very
human things, too, because it does not occur to them that women are
human, not really. Women are prizes to be caught and used or hags to be
harassed or, occasionally, both.
Violent extremism always attracts the lost, the broken, young men
full of rage at the hand they’ve been dealt. Violent extremism entices
those who long to lash out at a system they believe has cheated them,
but lack they courage to think for themselves, beyond the easy answers
they are offered by peddlers of hate. Misogynist extremism is no
different. For some time now misogynist extremism has been excused, as
all acts of terrorism committed by white men are excused, as an
aberration, as the work of random loons, not real men at all. The
pattern is repeatedly denied: these are the words and actions of the
disturbed."
Misogynistic extremism, and the hate crime that has resulted, are no different than the hate crimes of the KKK and other supremacist groups, or the killing of Matthew Shepherd in Laramie.
I'm noticing a trend here.
These things happen as sweeping cultural advances are happening; advances that are crumbling, little by little, the white, male patriarchy in America. We may very well elect a woman president in a couple of years. We have already elected a black man to the Presidency. Marriage equality is rapidly becoming the law of the land. These are the last gasps of a dying patriarchy that has long held a stranglehold on the rest of us. Much like a toddler screams the loudest right before he falls asleep.
(Sidenote: I love the people who say "Why can't we go back to the 1950's, when everything was easier, and more wholesome. The good old days." Please. The 50's in America were awesome if you were a straight, white male. They pretty much sucked for everyone else. )
Here's the thing: the culture change needn't be scary. The pendulum must swing. The Universe demands balance. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The all-male God has ruled and now the Goddess demands her due. A culture of community, nurture, an abhorrence for war, a value of all people without one dominating the other, these are divine feminine principles.
It's about time.
The strongest of men welcome the strength of their women. I know, I raised one.
Men needn't owe their masculinity to driving down another human.
My son knows this. All "real men" know this.
Boys, however, have cooties.
Pumps: Check. 
And so is the glamazon, sex goddess of stage and screen. She shares quarters with the super-nerdy history buff who can tell you more about ancient religious customs than you ever wanted to hear. Like, EVER. They live right down the hall from the hard working single mom, who doesn't have time to bake cookies for the bakesale because she's got two god damned jobs, so will you just give her five minutes of quiet, please?!? Right next door is the girl who just wants to sing with the band and dance all night and stumble in at four in the morning with tired feet and a head full of adventurous stories to tell. She likes to have breakfast with the domestic goddess who loves to cook and will feed you until you are fit to burst (and make you a Tupperware of leftovers to take home, because you never know, you might want a nibble later.) She takes care of everyone, especially adventure girl, who does things like ziplining down volcanoes in Costa Rica and running off to Paris for her BFF's 50th birthday. And they all sit down at the table with Writer Chick to sort it all out.
Because all of those women, in greater or lesser degrees, require acknowledgement. The biggest relationship fails I've had- and there have been a few - have been because the person with whom I was relating kept trying to fit me in to a category. A box. A pigeon hole. It's suffocating and then I am forced to flee. I have no choice. There is no oxygen in there. 
My father, who was the smartest human I've ever met, once told me "Tootsie, in relationships you need a string and a kite. If you have two strings they just lay on the ground and no one flies. If you have two kites, they both fly off into space and get lost. But when you have a kite and a string, the string holds the kite steady and the kite lifts the string as far in the air as the string lets it. And thank God for your mother because she's my string. Get yourself a string, TootsiePop. You are a kite."
