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2005-06-15 - 4:46 p.m.
I love the Powerpuff Girls. Enough to call myself Bubblevicious.
I sort of like the idea of tiny cute things and I also sort of like the idea of making things explode.But herein lies the danger:
Am I masking myself with socially acceptable ideas of cuteness in order to passive-agressively deflect responsibility for my own anger?Yeah, I know, you're already annoyed with me.
Questions like this tire me as well. They're so pregnant with the bad name of feminism. And feminism has a bad name, just ask any feminist.
But here's the thing: I have to start talking about anger. And I have to stop making it cute. Instead of saying: "Excuse me, ______, but your tendency to talk over me/stand in front of me/privilege yourself over me in every single life scenario is a teensy bit annoying and really hurts my feelings," I need to say "You're being a jackass. Read a fucking book. About anything."
I'm a joke to most men. Really I am. And it kind of makes sense.
The group I hang out with isn't really big on those scary feminism oriented questions. It's a boys club. We talk about how smart all the boys are in our club and make lots of the same jokes over and over again. Then we leave long, awkward silences after the women speak, as if, perhaps, the dog has made a particularly strange series of barks.
And my options are: a)Speak boy language b)Exist as a strange, noisy, animal _ a squawking bird, a barking dog, a screaming spider monkey. I am a jungle of indecipherable sounds, speaking a patois of human/other. This is the ugly animal. The thing with hair and teeth and smell and noise. It is the thing you can never understand. Whoever you are. Because when have you ever been an animal? When have you been stuffed in the trunk of a car, bound to a bed, raped from behind? This is woman's animal legacy, it is ugly. And we turn our heads from the ugly, we all do. Especially women. And perhaps this is the problem. Moreso than men, women try to hide from the ugliness of femininity. We believe in the myth. We bought the farm. We keep ourselves open to the possibility that this ugly history is not ours. But it is. IT IS. We are ugly. We are disgusting.
STOP TRYING TO BE PRETTY, IT WON'T WORK.
Unless, of course, being pretty does work. Unless cleaning up the package, coloring between the lines, makes the truth more tolerable and the world more open to our weird words and strange history. Unless the very thing we're fighting for, if we're fighting at all, is the satisfaction of moving on, and moving through, this thing we face every day. The reality of our flesh. Here. On the planet.Anyway, you should read this about the Powerpuff Girls because I mostly have to agree.