Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!

Ok, so there are all these reports about Obama begging Waxman to get rid of the provision for contraceptives in the stimulus package. Mostly because the Conservatives are threatening not to support it if it's included.

On the face of it, one would imagine that these conservatives, being all anti-choice and shit, would think contraceptives were totally awesome. And they probably would, if their problem with abortion had as much to do with saving the fetuses as they'd like us to think it did. But it doesn't.

See, while most of us read "The Scarlet Letter" and think "Whew! Thank god that doesn't happen anymore!," I kinda feel like these conservatives look at it with a wistful tear in their eye, pining for what once was. A time when street urchins might yell this at you as you walked down the street:

"Behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter; and, of a truth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter running along by her side! Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!"

Whatever. Street urchins so never talked like that. In any era. But, you know, they hold onto that hope. See, these people, I believe, look at STD's and unwanted children as today's Scarlet Letters- ways of punishing women who are "impure," and also perhaps giving them an identifying marker- a child. They want to punish them, not because of a moral failing, but because they believe that in being "impure" they have stolen something from men that is rightfully theirs.

For most of history, women's bodies were bought and sold between men, with the women having very little to do with it at all. You know, like "Hey, you give me some chickens, and you can have my daughter's hymen." The idea that women's bodies are their own, and not the property of men is a fairly new concept- one that some people have yet to accept. The idea of having a virgin bride who will never know how much they suck in bed is just too tempting. Unfortunately for these people, 97% of Americans have had premarital sex (which, duh, must include some of these people), and that statistic is unlikely to change.

No.

I may have had a bit too much wine, and I'm still not quite packed for my trip back home... and I should probably go to bed, but I felt it was necessary to inform you that this is in fact a horrid idea. A horrid, horrid idea.

On fire.

Eek. The arsonist in my neighborhood is at it again, and a car right behind our apartment went up in flames. Not good.

And the worst part, I guess, other than my fear of going up in flames at some point this evening, was that, like, my very first gut instinct was to call the absolute wrong person. And I had just, just had a conversation with Jen about my high-minded, self-preservation based reasoning for not doing such things anymore. Fuck.

And my penance for it is this- I will write, 87,000 times, on a blackboard "I will believe people when they tell me who they are."

Sorry for being so vague about shit. I don't even know why I'm writing this, or anything I've written lately, really. Maybe I'll delete it all later.

Hot trends for your vag

You know, if you seriously feel as though you have to dye your pubes pink and have them fashioned into a bow, I feel like you're maybe missing something in life or in your relationship that will probably not be solved by dying your pubes pink and having them fashioned into a bow.

I refuse, refuse to believe that this is something that is happening anywhere. Mostly on the grounds that I can't imagine any woman would prefer sticking a soaking wet tampon up her vag (which I cannot imagine can be done gracefully or without difficulty) to sipping a cocktail. Nothing about that seems like it would be at all pleasant for any reason. Although, a part of me hopes that this will become a national moral panic, and that there will then be a PSA about it and possibly an episode of The Tyra Banks show dedicated to the subject. Just for my personal amusement.

Oh, Cosmo

- "A Cougar Stole my Man!"- Harrowing tales of chicks who were dumped for older chicks who were super tan and did a lot of botox. Or, um, not so much dumped for as the guy started doing one after the break-up. Plus tips on how you can, uh, prevent this from happening by being more like a cougar. Not really sure on what to take from this- I mean, shit, if that's what the dude wants, then let him go and get it. What do you care? I mean, generally, post dating me, most dudes go in one of two directions

1. The blatantly, horrifically, gasp-inducingly hideous. I'm not talking just in a sour grapes, "oh I'm cuter than she is anyway" way, or that the girl was just sort of "eh" looking, or just not traditionally attractive- and not that there's anything wrong with not being aesthetically pleasing... It's just that it happens to be an objective fact that many of the girls that guys have dated after dating me have born a striking physical similarity to Jo-Jo the dogfaced boy. I don't know why this is. I think maybe they want someone who will be more grateful to be with them or something. That's my only guess.

2. Robyn-lite! A chick who kind of looks like me, and has some vaguely similar attribute (ie: being from the same state, liking the same movies or music or whatever), but is usually rather dimunitive in stature and not so much of a smart-ass.

And you know, I really don't feel as though I can really learn anything from these chicks. I'm ok with not belonging in a sideshow, and I doubt that being more demure would add anything positive to my life. I mean, I'm the one who has to hang around me more than anyone. I would say that if someone terrible "steals your man"- he's probably not someone you really want all that much to begin with.

- "Am I Normal Down There?"- When I read this out loud to Jen, she said "In Australia?" That is all.

- The Surprising Touch That Whips a Guy on Date #1- Did you know it involves reading his palm?

- Guy Sexy vs. Girl Sexy!- When you go out with your girlfriends you should wear fake eyelashes so you stand out and look cuter than they do, but you shouldn't wear them with a dude because it will weird him out.

- Best Celebrity Scent ever! Unscripted by Patrick Dempsey! For Avon! Huh? I'm not sure if it's for men, or for women, or what. But, really- what?

- Fashion hints! The look for fall, clearly, is a fedora, with a sweater, and then just underwear. Wear it while casually arching your back on your bed while no one else is in the room. Also- cardigans and underwear. Seriously, just forget pants altogether.

- Lessons learned: If you want to look hot in the morning after you do some guy, keep one plastic bag of cotton balls doused with make-up remover, and another filled with cotton balls doused with witch hazel (to soothe beard burn and degrease your roots!). Oh, and don't forget the liquid brightener! Seriously, what kind of people are this prepared?

Also featured- lots of really boring sex tips along the lines of "dudes like blowjobs! Did you know?" and tying your pantyhose around his dick or something. Ew. Who the fuck wears pantyhose anymore?

A few figs from thistles...

First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light.

Second Fig
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

EVM
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I'm having a lovely and non-sensical chat with my mother about my hypothetical tattoo dilemma. I do not have any, and will probably not ever have any, because I'm freaking petrifed of needles and need to be distracted at the doctors office by puppets and promised ice cream in order for them to take my blood. Also, if I did in fact have a tattoo, I would drive myself insane trying to coordinate my outfits around it. Because I'm like that. However, I still like to postulate about what sort of tattoo I would get were I to get one which I won't. My mother sometimes worries that I am serious, and reminds me of my 8th grade plan to get a butterfly tattooed on my ankle (I know.) and also how cool I thought my naval ring was at age 15- and she tells me that it's just a bad idea anyway, because they always end up looking dirty somehow. I will add here, that when I was 17, she said I could get a tattoo, but only if it was a giant battleship across my chest.

My current idea is that I would get a tattoo of two figs- which, I explained to her, would be problematic because they'd probably look like balls... and that would take a bit of explaining, I would imagine. Oh, and possibly somehow the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay would be woven in- but even though it's quite short, it would still be a lot of words. This was my problem with trying to figure out a Dorothy Parker related tattoo. And who feels like explaining who Edna St. Vincent Millay is every day of one's life? I imagine it would be exhausting, and difficult to do without sounding pretentious. Where would I even put these figs? Why am I pondering this?

So, anyway- I tell her I came up for the idea when I decided recently that were I ever to have a daughter, which I won't because I'm too selfish and squeamish about biological things- I would name her Vincent- which would be neat, because a) That's what EVM called herself, b) it's the last name of my dad's best friend, who I'm probably closer with than most of my relatives, c) I would be keeping a long standing family tradition alive of people being named Vinny, and d) I like boys names for girls. Oh, and her middle name would be Ray or Rae- after my grandfather and my favorite uncle (and my mum, I guess, since that's her middle name as well).

My mother agrees. "That's why I named you Robyn. I also like the name James for a girl."

"Ooh- that's a good one." I said, "Except it would remind me of the Elvis impersonator's son* and also of that one guy I dated who got all "Why aren't you being funny?? Waaah!" After I lost my keys and fell in a puddle."

"Maybe you should join a convent?"

"I know, right? Oh, I also like whatever Bette Davis and Olivia de Havilland's names were in that one movie they were in that wasn't 'Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte'"

"Oh, yeah, that movie! What are you even talking about, are you on drugs? You sound like you're on drugs" (Spoken by a woman who gives directions based on where things used to be. I digress.)

"No- give me a second. Um... you know, they're sisters and they both have men's names, and Bette Davis steals Olivia de Havilland's fiance and ruins everyone's lives? And Hattie McDaniel and Butterfly McQueen are in it too?"

"Oh... I think I know that one. I can't remember what it's called. Is it the one where she says "What a dump?"

"No, no- that was another one- the one with Joseph Cotten. Give me a second- it'll come to me."

"You go do that, hun, I have to do laundry"

"Ok- I'll talk to you soon. I own it, I know it's somewhere, I'll go check."

Ten seconds later, I call her back...

"It's In This Our Life, and their names were Stanley and Roy! I like that, I think Stanley is a neat sounding name for a girl."

"Oh, that's Obama's mother's name."

"Crazy! Who knew!"

"You knew!"

"Oh, you're right, I did."

"Maybe you should go drink some coffee?"

*Back when we lived in Massachusetts, we lived next door to a creepy Elvis impersonator. True story. The whole house was like a shrine to Elvis, except this one little section that was the wife's little shrine to Dolly Parton. The whole family was frightening. Maybe I'll tell you about them some other time.