The Fanatical Feminist

Here I go again opening my big mouth, probably about to offend a lot of people, especially women. Not because I’m being rebellious, but because I hate seeing what I’ve been seeing lately, and what I’ve been hearing lately, and I wanted to make it clear that these ‘popular’ and ‘politically correct’ opinions do not represent me in any way.

I’d like to start off by saying that I’m a feminist. I’m a feminist in the way that I believe women should be treated fairly, paid fairly, and respected fairly in the world as an individual human being, as opposed to their male counterparts. But, I’m not saying that women are equal, lower, or better than men… just different. Just as the same way I don’t think people should be treated unequally because of their race, religion, or sexual orientation. We are all different, and I celebrate those differences, but I believe that fairness, mutual respect, and compassion should be met and given based on individual aspects, not gender and so forth.

Of course, I live in the real world.. a world filled with hate, prejudice, oppression, and inequality. I’m not blind to these issues, but I’m also not blinded by the fundamentalism from each of these factions toward, or for, each other. I hate racism. I love people of all colors, and believe with my whole heart that equality and fairness should be meted in all colors. But it’s not… and that’s evident in ALL colors. Whites are not the only racists.

When it comes to feminism, I cry a lot. I mean it literally tears me up inside when I read how women have been treated throughout our history. Not just American history, but how women have been treated all over the world, and how women are still treated in the world. I love this country and am glad to have been born here because I’m a woman with an opinion and mind of my own, and I’m given the freedom to express that opinion. Had I been born in many other places, I would be stoned or tortured to even dare to express such opinions. That’s a shame. I don’t give a shit what religion you practice or what government you live under, if you treat a woman like shit – you’re a piece of shit and should be ashamed of yourself and hope your dick falls off.

I have nightmares sometimes about how women and little girls are molested, abused, kidnapped, forced into the sex trade as a slave, forced into prostitution, forced into labor camps, not given a voice, not given rights, and subjected to a totalitarian rule of a brutal man/woman. It’s worse when the slavers are other women, but it happens. I’ve been involved in many programs where I’ve tried to help women/girls flee from human trafficking or domestic abuse. It kills me to see this type of evil in the world. I’m not blind to it. I see it, I do what I can, and I shed plenty of tears. But… just because I’m fighting for women’s freedoms, for women’s rights, for women’s voices… that doesn’t mean I’m on a crusade to emasculate men in order to gain them. This is where me and the feminist movement part ways.

I LOVE being a woman. I celebrate it. I love being different than a man. I love men. I love a lot of different things about men, and because I love and respect them, I’m not out to destroy them, demean them, debunk them, or degrade them in order to advance in this world. Instead, I do the opposite. I celebrate them, their differences, encourage them, strengthen them, and let them know how much I appreciate them for who/what they are… and this drives my feminist friends crazy.

I love being pampered, being adored, being spoiled by a man. Not because I think they ‘should’ do those things because I’m a woman, but because I know they’re doing those things for me because they love me, they admire me, they adore me and want to make me happy. I do the same thing for the men I love in this world… and this irks my feminist friends.

I love to please my man. It brings me pleasure to please. I love to cook for them, I love to provide the things that make them happy, I love to please them sexually, I love to make love to them and when I’m done, get up and go make them a sandwich. (That’s the term used lately in a lot of articles. However, I’d probably cook them a delicious gourmet meal.. not just a sandwich, but you get the picture.) I love to tell them how beautiful they are, how smart they are, how clever they are, and especially how strong they are. A brilliant mind is a huge turn-on for me, so when I see a man being clever, I compliment him on it. A brave man willing to fight to protect me, protect the innocent, protect his country, protect those he loves is also a turn-on for me, and when I see a man who does that, I compliment him. This is why I love soldiers, because they’re willing to put their lives on the line, and I know they’re doing it for me, for my country, for my freedom.

When I love something or someone, I want them to be happy, I want to please them, I want to see them become the best person they can possibly be and grab every opportunity in life to fulfill their dreams. I become their biggest cheerleader, because I value them. My feminist friends say I hurt the feminist movement by doing these things, that I’m telling men that my place is in the kitchen. NO! My place isn’t in the kitchen because I’m a woman, but because I’m a damned good cook and I love being in the kitchen. I’d love for my man to be right there in that kitchen with me… cooking with me. Hell, making love while we’re cooking would be even better. But, a lot of men don’t like cooking or isn’t very good at it. Guess what??? I’m not good at changing tires or oil in my car, and it’s actually a turn-on to watch my gorgeous man out there doing those kinds of things for me. I know he’s not doing it just because he’s the man, but because he cares for me and knows I need my tires rotated and my oil changed so my car runs, etc. A man doing things like that for me doesn’t make me feel inferior. As a matter of fact, it makes me feel valued, precious, and appreciated. I believe me cooking a delicious meal makes him feel the same toward me.

This struggle between men and women is a result when love becomes absent in a relationship. When we are in love, we can’t do enough to please our partners, to appreciate them, to celebrate them, to make them happy. When love becomes absent… that’s when what we used to do because we love them now feels like a forced chore and the roles of gender inequality began to battle. No one thinks it’s offensive to fix their man a sandwich after sex when they’re in love, but once they fall out of love it becomes the fodder for a fight on equal rights.

In the work force, women still have a long way to go to be treated equally, but I thank God everyday how far the world has come over the last few decades. LEAPS and BOUNDS, baby. Leaps and bounds! We are still moving in the right direction, but the femi-nazies need to back off and quit pitting men and women against each other. Many of these extreme programs are fascists, not looking for equality, but imperialistic in domination. I’m sorry, I’m NOT for that, nor will I ever be. I still LOVE men and celebrate the differences of men and women. YES, I will still fight for women’s rights, but not at the cost of our men. I want men to be men, and not be afraid to be men because we live in an over-sensitive, easily-offended society bent on their emasculation.

FUCK THAT! And if my feminist friends want to hate me for that - so be it, because I really don’t want or need their vitriol hate in my life. If they’d concentrate on loving themselves and loving each other, perhaps we can end all this hate someday. That’s all it is – hate.

Till next time,
~The Fanatical Feminist

Turning a Blind Eye

This morning I engaged in a heavy discussion with a dear friend of mine who currently lives and works in a third world country for the Peace Corps.  There is a practice there where the young men of this village go through a 6-month initiation school to learn how to be a man and herd animals.  They are then sent out into the hills to put what they’ve been taught into practice.  As they go, they often ‘abduct’ a young girl from the village, take her to the mountains, gang rape her,  and then one of the boys (whichever the one has enough money/cows) will marry her.  They give the family an agreed upon price of cow/livestock/money in exchange for their daughter.  

My friend told me the story of a young girl who had been washing clothes by the river with the other women from the village when a group of herd boys on horses snatched up the young girl and took her into the mountains.  No one did anything because it’s the accepted practice in that remote and uneducated area.  My heart breaks for that young girl, not only for what she had to endure in those mountains, but for the life she will now have to live, married to one of her rapist, never given the choice or freedom to fall in love, be respected as a woman.  I understand the purpose of the practice – to exert dominion in order to control. It’s what all animals do. Men have been doing it since the beginning.

There’s something inside me that weeps and gets angry every time I hear stories like this.  Perhaps it’s because of my western upbringing, having been raised in a free society and know the taste of freedom.  It’s not that I don’t understand these people are just following their ingrained and long traditions.  But, do they have no soul?  Regardless of their ignorance of western civilization, our laws, and culture, there is an inner consciousness that knows when you hurt another human being that what you’re doing is wrong.

It would be easy for me to place the blame squarely on the ignorance of these young men or the culture in which they live, but it wouldn’t be fair or accurate to lay it only at their feet.  The only time that there has been a societal or cultural change in the treatment of women has occurred is when the women of that culture decided to make a change.  We contend with what we allow.  While the girl being raped has no choice in that activity, what she does from that point forward is her choice.  She either accepts it, or she fights back.  I’m not naïve and know that fighting back may cost her life.  I also know that change doesn’t happen with one battle over night, but several battles over generations.

While for some of us – the days of Hagar, Leah, Abigale and Tamar are over, for others that’s the reality of the day.  What an odd world we live, where paradise and purgatory occupy the same place.  I weep for the young girls who’ve ever experienced this type of brutality.  I also weep for the young men who were pressured or taught to engage in such activities in order to prove their manhood.  I weep for the society that accepts such practices, and I weep for a world who turns a blind eye.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Beautiful Classic

Talking with a dear friend this morning, really about nothing significant, I somehow stumbled onto something that’s really been rolling around in my heart for a while. I just haven’t been able to put words to it yet, well… not until right now.

Those of you who read this blog on a regular basis (which I appreciate – and thanks again for the Leibster Nomination) know that I’m on an ever-changing emotional journey that has taken me to some really high points and very dark low points.  Sometimes those emotions can change in a heartbeat, because I’m now at a point where they’re all clashing together.  Old things are falling away, new things are showing up, and somewhere between we find the chaos that is my life.

Well, this conversation I mentioned above was a metaphor for the function and maintenance of a woman’s vagina… (yes, I have very interesting conversations, but that’s not the story I want to talk about at this particular moment) which turned to the topic of finding a good Mechanic.  (I can see some of you right now skimming down a few paragraphs to get back to this subject of a woman’s vagina… *shakes my head*… but stay with me here.)  The Mechanic in this metaphor, of course, is a good man - a man that fulfills not only a woman’s sexual needs, but takes care of her, takes pride in her, loves to show her off, loves to pamper her, loves to take her everywhere (even sometimes finding excuses to go just so they can be together), loves to take her for a spin and get her motor humming.  I could really go on and on and on, but I think you get the picture.  

Unfortunately, I’m finding there’s a huge shortage on good Mechanics, ones who don’t really appreciate the beauty and complexity of a good, well-made engine and the sleek style of a classic body.  They’re into simplicity, easy, fast, economical, compact, and often the latest model that just rolled onto the showcase floor.  They drool in their excitement and their fingers itch to press those start buttons and listen to her young engine come to life.  But, a good mechanic knows that there are lot a bugs that have to be worked out of a new engine… it’s not been tested… it’s neither weathered the storms nor found its stride.  It most often doesn’t even yet have a purpose… driven recklessly by some young inexperienced yelp out for a thrill… often crashing her, damaging her, or completely destroying her.  They don’t understand – the simplicity requires no imagination and effort, which leads to a lack of appreciation.  They get bored and ready to move on because the thrill has run out.  So, they go from model to model… never being satisfied, because they’re not being fully stimulated.

But the beautiful classic… ah… the sound of her engine is strong.  Her body may not be new, have a few patches here and there, but it’s solid, it’s sleek, and it’s still beautiful as hell.  She’s got moves.  She’s got curves.  There’s a confidence in a classic… knowing she’s been through it already and made it… she can do it again.  A good mechanic knows that a beautiful classic, if well-maintenance on a regular basis, won’t need much more than a regular tune-up and a steady coat of wax, because she’s already got a purpose and her kinks had been ironed out years before.  She’s got style and grace and a beauty that never fades.  She’s complicated, but something a good Mechanic appreciates, adores, loves and respects.  He knows her intimately… all her parts and how they work together.

So, this classic beauty would love to find a good, smart, wise Mechanic.  Let the boys have the little plastic hotrods… and let the real men dare to try and bridle the pure power of a classic. It’ll be the ride of their lives.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray