I’m a jerk, apparently

When I was 7, I asked my friend’s brother how he knew that a dog we’d spotted was a boy (after he’d referred to it as a “he”). He replied that when you didn’t know, you just called it a “he”. At 7, this seemed arbitrary and didn’t sit right. It would take awhile to fully articulate all the wrongness that this presumption implied.

At 7 I had an inkling that there was an underlying sexism and mental laziness that assumed male predominance. Of course, I had no idea how much grief you could get for pushing against the system.

Language is subtle and communicates important ideas. It builds on frameworks we’ve all internalized.

Does the word “man” refer simply to male humans? Or does it, as is so often asserted really imply all people, as in “mankind”, “cavemen”, or “policeman”.

Does this dominance of the masculine reinforce societal bias against women? Is this malecentrism (or really, heteromalecentrism), or are we feminists just making a fuss?

Here’s a clue: if it really weren’t a big deal, people wouldn’t push back against gender neutral language, they’d simply adopt it. Because it’s “no big deal”, right?

Nooooope. Instead, you get an immediate, hostile response that this is just the way it’s always been and that you’re being overly sensitive–you’re being rude by making other people feel uncomfortable by calling them out for using and defending sexist language.

The reality is that people of privilege really dislike it when you threaten that privilege by asserting that you’re, y’know, an equal and deserve to be represented in everyday language. That the defenders are, somewhat less often, women doesn’t mean it isn’t sexist language, it just means that women are also susceptible to internalizing the messages we’ve gotten from day 1 about male superiority.

Obviously, this came up recently. My sister posted a quote from one of her church’s leaders. It was all “man” this and “man” that. I’m so tired of sexist language. I pointed it out… but “ohmygawd… the dictionary says “man” is used to refer to “mankind” as in the whole human race”…

*Eyeroll* I’m also so tired of sexism being the tired trope of the religious. Look, if your religious leaders can’t get with the times and figure out what the problem with referring to all unidentified dogs as “he”, there’s a problem. Your religious leaders are not infallable and above criticism for their sexism (or anything else). Sorry if that sounds rude (for the uninitiated, I’m not sorry, that’s sarcasm).

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A short missive about daily musings

Things I’ve wondered idly since my arrival in Afghanistan:

If it’s inappropriate to announce the color of your underwear. I’ve concluded it probably is and erred on the side of caution most days. What I’d imagine clouds would look like, if there were any in this dry, dry land.
Why the people in charge haven’t acted on my request for brownies in the dining facility.
How awesome army green toe socks would be.
How I don’t really miss television all that much
What my breaking point will (inevitably) be
If it’s inappropriate to request sleeping pills and clove cigarettes in care packages
How a request for cheddar biscuits might be received
Whether or not I could pull off a Justin Bieber shirt, ironically–of course. At what point certain extended family members will unfriend me on facebook–because I am godless.
How I’d look with a shaved head. I decided probably not great and yet… Why brunch in the US gives me thrills, but here it pisses me off. Probably because it replaces two meals here instead of being an added bonus. Stupid brunch.

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My dad: feminist hero

My dad would probably not admit to being a feminist. More’s the pity, as far as I’m concerned.

My dad is probably the biggest reason I’m a feminist. He used to tell us that he’d had this dream before any of us were born that we would be these fierce warriors. For as long as I can remember, he planted this idea that all of us were going to be these amazing, strong women. When I was a kid, I always imagined a line-up of Amazons; long before Xena and Buffy, I pictured She-ra and Wonder Woman type bad-asses. It was an empowering image.

I grew up thinking that was how I was supposed to be. My dad taught me to camp, build a fire, change a tire and my own oil, do calculus… I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I shouldn’t do these things because I was a girl. Rather, because the world so often expects women to never really grow up, to always rely on a man and that this would be used to hold us down, he made sure we were able to take care of ourselves.

I know both of my parents don’t quite get where I’m coming from when I say I’m a feminist. It doesn’t exactly mesh with the religion. They can get down with equal pay, but I see the squirming when faced with my full-on radical feminist ideas that one day no one will question what you were wearing, rape is as bizarre as human sacrifice, the idea that parenting was ever seen as women’s work is a weird, antiquated fossil of a bygone era, abortion is no one’s business but your own, women aren’t subjected to daily intimidation from men on the street and are then told it’s a “compliment”, no one thinks twice when you choose not to parent and under no circumstance should we ever, ever be afraid to speak out against our oppression. I get that it doesn’t mesh with what they expected, having raised me in a religious home. I get it, I do.

But let’s make one thing clear, it was when the message he taught us of “you can conquer the world” ran into the “but you’re a girl” bull-shit-of-the-world that I became a feminist. Whatever else I might say about the way I was raised, that’s a pretty amazing gift.

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A melodramatic post in which I describe an intense sense of dismay,loss, and emptiness

I was really happy to get a coffee mug from the PX when we visited the other camp today. Sadly, I made the mistake of leaving my bag unattended for 5 minutes while I said goodbye and both my tostitos and mug sprouted legs and walked off on their own.

WTF?

I spent a good twenty minutes being really upset–dismay would be an apt descriptor.

My sense of injustice is only compounded by the fact that I literally talked about getting a mug for two weeks. An additional complication is the problem in acquiring a new mug–if I didn’t have to go in a frikkin’ armored vehicle to get another mug, this wouldn’t be as big of a deal. Getting coffee should not be so complicated and yet I am without an appropriate ceramic container for my morning brew.

Clearly, I have made terrible choices in my life.

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A raging headache will make you think crazy

So, I’m allergic to no fewer than two substances in my room, over which I have no control.

The first I identified on day two when I got sprayed in the face by the motion-activated airfreshener, strategically positioned over the thermostat–which my roommates keep at exactly ass-freezingoF–and was immediately seized with a monster headache.

The second, I’m not so sure. I think it’s the laundry detergent, or maybe the hardwater, or maybe the air in Afghanistan. Whatever it is, I have red splotches on my neck and arms which go away about an hour after I’ve gotten up. Makes me itchy.

Maybe I’m allergic to sleep?

Anyhoo, by 8 a.m. I’ve used up pretty much all the patience I have for the day.

Take from this what you will–whether it’s “that Jessica-lady is nuts” or “she sure is complainey”–but I’m not really in the mood to make this coherent.

So here are some things I’ve been thinking about:

-Why does it always seem like I really need to pee when the bathrooms are closed for cleaning? Seriously, WTF?

-I probably should bring up the arctic chill and air-freshener issues before I go all “John Rambo” on the roommate.

-I wish I had brought a laptop with me… but I am getting a lot more reading done without it.

-I really miss having TJ to snuggle with. He is pretty easy on the eyes, to boot.

-I kind of miss television.

-This headache is making me want to puke.

-I sure am glad the world didn’t end on Saturday, but if my roommate had been raptured I could throw away the air-freshener. This would have been a win-win, no?

-WTF is up with the spell-check, like “complainey” isn’t a word?

-Jeez, I need to pee.

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Rapture-ish

The rapture is set for 6 pm tonight or, in military speak,1800. I’m not sure if it’s like Christmas where it depends on your timezone (in which case, I’ll be keeping an eye on New Zealand to see what happens) or if it’s a set time, probably based on Israel’s clock… but whatever happens (and when) I’m pretty sure I’ll be here come the 22nd, if for no other reason than the aforementioned atheism, but talk of rapture does have me thinking.

What if the rapture already happened?

Remember how Lot’s family all left Sodom and Gomora, aside from the fire and brimstone falling from heaven, who would have noticed? Seriously, would you notice if the Smiths from down the street, with the really annoying yappy dog, suddenly disappeared?

So, what if the rapture actually happened back in the 90′s when the Jehovah’s Witnesses predicted and we just didn’t notice because so few people were actually rapturized?Afterall, I was going through puberty about that time and it sure did seem like the world was going to end… and yet, I’m still here.

Anyway, I’m not convinced anyone genuinely believes this crap. I sure wouldn’t be going to work in the week or two leading up to the rapture if I thought it was going to happen. Hell, I’m two steps out the door by the time Friday afternoon rolls around; if I thought the world was going to end, forget it–I’d be burning bridges left and right. 

Regardless, I’m not so sure the world won’t be a better place post-rapture; best I can tell most of the people who believe in the rapture are kind of assholes anyway.

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A pox on both your houses

Is it too much to hope that I don’t develop that nasty tell-tale small pox vaccine scar?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been regularly updating those closest to me with the status of my vaccination.

Just a little taste of what it means to be in my closest friends and family circle: first it blisters, then it turns into a nasty, weeping sore that looks a lot like a cigarette burn, eventually it scabs. During this entire time, you have to keep the site covered and take care not to “share” your vaccination. Eventually  the scab falls off and you aren’t a giant walking infection anymore.

Gross? Yes. Obnoxious? Absolutely.

But I will be invincible. That’s right, no one can vince me.

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