Why I'll always be a proud feminist.

I'm going to approach this like an A.A. meeting.

Hi, my name is Hilary, and I've had an eating disorder/seeing my own body disorder since I was in kindergarten. Neither my mom nor I really know where this came from; before that I had been a happy, confident, healthy kid, but one day I came home in a real state, thinking I was fat, and it only escalated from there. I have distinct memories of pushing my stomach as hard as I could against the edge of a bookshelf, trying to make it shrink (this was still in kindergarten). I slept with a pillow rolled up under my stomach because I hoped maybe that would make it smaller (still in Kindergarten). I graduated from Kindergarten and was more or less eating regularly until sixth grade because I was homeschooled, and my mom took good care of me. Then, meals were skipped or eaten as little as possible; and in 9th grade I went into full-fledged anorexia. At my lowest, I weighed 110 pounds and I was just about as tall as I am now.

I'm only just starting to get over it, and even then I have my days where the fact that I currently weigh 125 scares me to death. Tanner's played a huge part in this (since he found out I wasn't eating when we started dating last year, and that I weighed 115 lbs and dropping at 5'8" tall), as has my mom. It's been off and on for 12 years of my life; that's well over half. For that much of my life I've been tortured, and tortured myself, because I'm not "thin" enough, not "pretty" enough for society to acknowledge my looks.

I can hide it really, really well. The only time people really suspected something was up is when they noticed how thin I was. And that was when my mom gave me an ultimatum, and she gave it in as loving a way as possible: stop it or treatment. So I stopped not eating temporarily, but I still had that blasted body image. I realize how lucky I am that I have loving family members who stopped me before I needed more serious treatments from weighing below 100 pounds.

I am telling this to emphasize one of the contradictions inside of the being that is Hilary: While I have spent 12 years of my life trying to fit into society's mold of what's perfect, I also have a fervent belief in the strength, importance and general awesomeness and badassery of my sex.

(*language alert: when I get passionate, especially about sociology/gender roles/women's rights, I cuss a little.*)

I heard it once said that women are the world's most under-valued resource. I could not find this to be more true.

Don't believe me? Call me crazy (Ooh, that'd be a good variation on the Carly Rae Jeppson phenomenon)?  Well, it has been said that men are a little afraid of women in power. OK, make that very afraid of women in power. Think about these two examples:

1). Joan of Arc, symbol of the French Revolution, leader, warrior, visionary--burned at stake. Portrayed as a whore/harpy for much of history (shame on Shakespeare). Only canonized fairly recently by the Catholic Church. Men feared her power; tried to rape her while she was imprisoned before her death. She took to wearing slacks because the lacings made it harder for men to take advantage of her.

2). Cleopatra. Ruler, queen of Egypt. Famous for her sexual escapades, she also happened to be clever. Very, very clever. And she also happened to be an astute politician. She intimidated a great number of Roman men, because Roman women were less than property and nameless until they married. One Roman philosopher in particular--Cicero I believe--particularly hated her. Probably because she wouldn't sleep with him. Anyway, how has she gone down in history? Whore, harlot, and femme fatale (when in ACTUALITY, her looks were the least intriguing thing about her. Her intelligence was what was attractive and seductive. But men can't handle that, so she's characterized historically as someone who only maintains her rule because she takes her clothes off).

I only gave two because there are so many women who are powerful and have been feared. Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor Roosevelt, Susan B. Anthony, Margaret Sanger, Abigail Adams, Jane Addams, Margaret Fuller...

Here is some more evidence in support of my argument:

Oh yeah, things have gotten better, but they still aren't exactly GREAT for women here in the US.

Men don't like the idea of women in power. They haven't for centuries. Millennia. Eons.

I'm not saying men are bad. I'm not one of THOSE feminists that rages against men and will threaten any male she meets with castration. I LIKE men. Men are my friends. Men are smart. Men are necessary. I married a man, didn't I? I'm a daughter of a man! I try not to be one of those earnest, droning feminists that lectures somebody in the rain about Amelia Earheart (thank you, Tana French).  I like men. There are many wonderful, awesome, funny men. I could name some of them for you if you like, just to prove that I am not a crazy, droning feminist.

1) My husband, Tanner. He thinks it's funny when I get on an ultra feminist soapbox, but he does understand that women are important, and that it's not a question of men being BETTER than women, just different.

2) Shout out to Johnathan! This guy is awesome. He works at the Rape Recovery Center, and is as much of a feminist as I am!

3) John Green. His statement about nerd girls is on my top 10 best quotes EVER. And he's smart, super funny, and replaced the words of a rap song with Romantic poets. What's not to like?

4) John Stewart. Say what you will about his satire, he's dang awesome. I would be friends with him.

5) My friend Liz's husband, Nephi! He seems like such a genuine, nice, awesome person. And, he also helped me during that awful day on the way home from Tanner's farewell.

6) Mr. Gardner!

7) Mr. Bracken!

8) Brian Regan! Gotta appreciate comics!

9) Jimmy Stewart! I love that man! He was so gentle. You don't have to be a fan of his acting to appreciate how good of a person he was.

10) Bill Gates! Look how he treats his wife! and he's a bona fide genius! and...rich too.

The problem is not just with men (or rather, SOME men who control social media in a negative way towards women). The problem is with women, too. Women are all too willing to try to bend and stretch and scrape and inflate (or deflate) ourselves and our various parts to try to fit into the social construction of beautiful.

The scary part is how young it starts. I can say it because I am that girl. I know so many who are that girl.

*Explicit language ahead alert*: This is one of the best ways I have heard it put, and it was put so eloquently by my own best friend Sahara. This meme has been particularly popular on the interwebs.

In response to it, my lovely friend wrote this:


"I am fairly certain that putting down one body type in order to uplift another is just plain wrong. Yes, that swimsuit picture of Marilyn is sexy. But so is the skinny woman that is often pictured next to her with a caption "fuck society," and as is every body type in between. Commenting on someone's weight is rude, even if it's to mention how much they've lost and that they now look great, because it is a perpetuation of the idea that one body type is better than another, and that thinness equates to beauty. The key here is to stop linking weight to beauty and self-worth, period. Not bashing someone to be too thin because you yourself feel overweight, or the other way around. If the goal of those pictures, which appear to have exploded all over the internet, was really to stick the middle finger at society, they would be commenting on how both bodies have their own beauty, rather than perpetuating the ridiculous idea that in order to feel beautiful someone else must be ugly. Actually considering all women of all different weights to be attractive is what would actually throw society a curve ball, not continuing the petty backbiting over image that has been going on for decades."

I love having smart people for friends!

I am a feminist, then, because I see myself entranced in the trappings of society, fussing about my body image and how many ounces more I weigh from one day to the next, and I WANT OUT. I am a feminist because I don't want to be just an object. I want to be appreciated for WHO I AM, all of me, especially the fact that I am smart and funny as well as pretty.  I am a feminist because I want to raise my future daughter to know that she doesn't have to be a porn star to be worthwhile, and that there is more to her life than being some man's sex toy. I want her to know that she is beautiful the way she is, and that smarts are more than just valuable, they are essential, they are priceless. I want her to know that, because one day I came home from kindergarten and my whole body image was changed, and with that the course of my life took some very poisonous turns. I am a feminist because I WANT women to be utilized politically. For Pete's sake, really, is a smart, well informed woman president of the United States too much to ask? And when we get one, can people please treat her with RESPECT?

 I want my voice to be heard. I want to vocalize my thoughts on issues that are important to our country, and to our world. I don't CARE if this sounds hippie-dippie. Lastly, I want to love myself and my body for what it is, not for what society thinks it should be. 34B bust, 125lbs, bigish nose, 26 inch waist, problem skin, and all. I even want to like the chicken skin on my elbows.

We talk about oppression of women by many other cultures. What we don't realize, is that we are doing it here, in America, still, right now in 2012. If this doesn't disturb you a little, it SHOULD.

(And, guys that get off on women being objectified in pornography/whatever else? Those women are someone else's daughters. If you have a daughter, think about how you'd feel about some stranger getting off on her tits/naked body.)

&That's Elementary.

For further information, PLEASE WATCH:

I know they look like porn, but that's the point. They illustrate how yucky society really is when it comes to depicting women.

Do you want your daughters to feel this way? Because I can guarantee, a lot of them do.

I did.

If you watched both the videos, and read the quote, you get a gold star and I love you. Sorry for this post being so long.

I'm back. Miss me?

Yep, it's been a while since my last post. Especially in internet time.

It's not that I haven't had things to write about. I have. I've just been super uninspired and not motivated in the slightest.

So instead, here is my amateur photography for your viewing pleasure.

My freshman year of college, fall was really exceptionally pretty on our campus. So I took a bunch of pictures of foliage that ended up being used in my creative writing project. I'm really proud of them, especially because I'm a wannabe with a tourist camera.

Anyway. Fall is my favorite time of year, and I'm posting these now because I'm super sick of summer heat. I want to be able to cuddle under a blanket and drink tea (haha, herb tea. right...?) Of course, I want to do all that without it being time to go back to school. Even thinking about school gives me ulcers. Because that means headaches and finals and BIOLOGY and science has wanted to bite me in the butt since we became acquainted.

Fall 2010 was an interesting season. I was in my first year of college, first relationship...a lot of firsts. Good memories. Also...some bad ones. But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

So, here it is. Project Document Autumn, 2010.

I really, really want to be a Cat Mom.

I guess I'll be posting about all my wants today. 

I love cats. I am a cat person, without doubt. I have been a cat person since I was little, and I...have always wanted one. Always. For as long as I've been alive. 

My dad is allergic to cats, though. Actually, he's allergic to pretty much all animals with fur, but beyond that I just have never seen him as much of an "animal person."

So now I'm moved out. And, I can have a pet if I want one. But I'm a poor, happily married college student, and as much as I want a cat baby, I just don't know if we can afford the expense at the moment. And our apartment is small and weirdly configured. The bathroom is as small as a closet and I have no idea where else we'd keep our litter box.

And, I'm also sort of baby hungry. Well, it's more...I want to nurture something small and cute. I don't really want a baby, because babies sort of scare me. Especially when they cry at me, or they poop. I don't do well under situations of high pressure, and for an only child, babies crying is high pressure. Seriously. When I babysat an infant who was crying its head off, I did call my mom. I'm not ashamed of it. I had no idea what in the heck to do. 

So, I guess that translates to, I want a cat. A kitten. 

And yesterday, on the neverending book of faces, I found THE KITTY. The kitty I want more than I want those red shoes. I saw her, and it was love at first sight. 

She has the sweetest, most intelligent face. 

If I can't have this kitty, when I CAN have a kitten I want one JUST LIKE IT. I don't care about the extra work it would be. I can handle it. And, it'd be good practice for taking care of things. And, I would love it for ever and ever and ever.

So that's my dream kitty. I hope I can have one sometime soon, because I qualify to be a very loving cat mom. 

& That's elementary.

Let's go to the MALL!

Hi, folks.

So, today I spent the  majority of the day in the mall with my mom, two of my aunts, and two of my cousins, plus my cousin's friend. I'm not particularly fond of the mall as a general rule. Something about  the electromagnetic influence from the fluorescent lights and the wiring, all the people, and the smell of capitalism at its finest.

That smell, I think, is something like a mix of the food court and the inside of Victoria's Secret.

Anyway, I ended up at the mall after going to the DMV to get my name changed on my license, because I done got married as you all know. We experienced a brief but totally fun (ha) few minutes waiting for my service number to get called, and then we were served by a really super cranky employee (is there any other variety at the DMV?) who told me that I needed not only everything else I had brought (SS Card, Birth Certificate, old drivers' license, and Marriage license) but TWO pieces of mail in MY name in order to prove that I live where I said I did. I did bring mail with my address on it, but because it was under Tanner's name it didn't work. Even though there is a marriage license, tangible proof that I am living with this man because I am MARRIED TO HIM.

Bah.

Anyway, at the mall, at Forever Young Shoes, I found the modern-day equivalent of the "God and my Shoes," shoes. I would give my...money, if I had any, for these shoes. They look a little bit like this:

Not so high, and the heel itself was black, but these are close. I'm not kidding, I love these things. I'm IN love with a pair of shoes. Not romantic love. Not like I love Tanner, but you know.

My mom pointed these shoes out to me right when I walked in the store, and I kind of laughed. They look sorta tacky on first glance, but ON, these babies are gorgeous.

They're like Dorothy shoes on steroids. They're like Jessica Rabbit shoes. I've never been much of a material girl (I HATE shopping, I usually get in, get out, no window shopping, no leisurely strolling. And, shopping makes me sick and nauseous). Some women have pairs upon pairs upon pairs upon pairs of shoes. Tanner thinks I have a ton, but really I don't have as many compared to some women. So me taking to a pair of shoes like that is...weird and unnatural.

I didn't end up buying them, because I'm a happy but poor married college student who currently doesn't have a job. But these are my dream shoes and if I had less sense I would have bought them. And now, enjoy How I Met Your Mother.

& That's Elementary.

Flying Squirrel Lessons cost $18

Tanner's big 20th birthday is today. We weren't sure if he'd be working today or not, so we celebrated yesterday by going to Lagoon, which is basically the kinda-Disneyland of Farmington.

I like Lagoon a lot. I have a lot of good memories going there with various friends, cousins, etc. One of my particular favorites was my cousin and I riding the Skyride across the park, and my cousin started yelling things at various passerby underfoot. She sounded like a Tourette's patient. The quote that stands out from that day was, "Liars go to Kansas!"

Apparently, Kansas is the circle of Hell that Dante forgot.

Another favorite memory was running into a high school friend who was in costume for the Frightmares. The same cousin and our friend and I were at Lagoon celebrating the friend's birthday, and a masked, faux-chainsaw wielding, costumed member of the "Hackenslash" crew came up to me and gave me a big hug. I knew exactly who it was, but my friend looked over and saw me hugging this stranger. It nearly gave her a heart attack.

I have some bad memories associated with Lagoon, too. Well, one. Lagoon is the place I discovered I have a fear of heights. I think I was about 10. It was the year they opened up the "Rocket" rides, and my dad talked me into going on "Blastoff" with him.

"It'll be like riding an elevator," he told me.

So, I got to the top of this elevator ride, saw the ground far, far beneath my feet, and subsequently experienced twenty seconds of Hell, not Kansas.

For the remainder of the day, I could feel the ground going up and down beneath my feet, and I was informed I was green at the gills.

In the subsequent years, people have tried various amounts of persuasion and coercion to get me onto the Rocket. Ex-Boyfriend did; no luck. Cousins, friends did; I stayed with my feet firmly on the ground. Even Tanner, the first time we went to Lagoon together, couldn't convince me to go on the Rocket.

Well, this time, because I love my husband, I let him convince me. While he was screaming, having fun, I had my eyes tightly closed and was making choking, sobbing, whimpering noises. The ground never felt so good.

Then he said, "Hey, it's my birthday. Want to go on the Skycoaster?"

 Because I am a sucker for my husband, I said yes.

I've been indoor skydiving before, and even at that 15-ish feet, I was scared.

So we went over and paid for our tickets. I was having some trouble with my mobile because I am technologically challenged sometimes, and so I wasn't really considering what I was about to do. I didn't even really think about it until I was all harnessed up, holding the bottom of the harness like some sort of weird mutant marsupial, and about to be hoisted up to forsaken heights and then dropped like a sack of bricks.

So they started hoisting us up and up and up, and it just didn't stop. "How much higher up do we have to go?" I asked my husband. He just giggled. So I held onto my wrists, our arms linked like the attendants had told us, and waited for him to pull the ripcord.

The freefall for me was the worst part. I kept my eyes tight shut and I was convinced that I was going to splat on the ground. Tanner thinks it's the best.

"That's when you feel like you're flying, with nothing restraining you," he told me later.

"That's the difference between you and me," I replied. "To you, freefall says 'Hey, I'm flying!' To me, it says, 'Hey, I'm DYING.'"

So I did it. I took the plunge and took my flying-squirrel lesson. And obviously I survived, or I wouldn't be writing this post.

& That's Elementary.

A Love Letter to my Mom

Lots of people like to say they have the greatest mom; that their mom is the coolest mom. My mom blows them out of the water for this simple reason:

My mom knows me better than anyone else on the entire planet. She's the first person I turn to when I have problems I can't seem to solve, she's the one I ask stupid questions to, the one who reassures me when my OCD or my one-track mind gets the better of me. She knows probably a lot more about me and my life than she cares to, especially at those times when I freak out about something. 

My mom and I are a lot closer than some other mothers and daughters I know. Although you might not be wondering why, I'm going to tell you anyway. 

I am an only child, and I grew up in a neighborhood that was predominantly settled. Meaning older. There were a few kids my age, but most of them moved away before I was 12. I was also homeschooled until I was 12, so I ended up spending a lot of time with my mom. Even when I went to grade school and middle school, she was my only means of transport because I went to middle school at a charter school that was a good half-hour away from our house, out in the boondocks for us. So I talked to her all the way up to school, and all the way back. 

Because of all this time spent, my mom can read me like a book. Even when I don't necessarily want her to know something right away, she can usually tell that I don't want her to know something, so she asks until I tell her. She  has a knack for knowing when I'm upset, and she knew fully when I had got my first kiss the moment when I walked in the door, and she knew when I kissed Tanner for the first time.

You can also tell how awesome my mom is by how awesome her friends are. The ladies of her "group," her friends Tree and Elizabeth, her sisters, and her friend Lisa, are all such huge role models to me, and basically my secondary moms, and friends too. 

Sometimes, she drives me crazy, but I know that I driver her crazy too, so it's sixes. Mostly, Mom and I just have fun together. I hang out at their house while Tanner works on weekends and Mom and I take part in lots of fun activites. We bake, we watch Sherlock together, we talk to each other about everything.

My mom is a really, really special lady. Anybody who knows my mom knows that. She's brave and she is strong. She's amazing, and I really hope that when I am a mom, I can do half as well as she has. I want my mom to stick around always. She is the best mom in the whole wide world. I can't imagine anyone who would be a better mom for me. I love her so much.

& that's the elementary truth. 

How many times do I have to tell you, we do NOT leave our machetes on the kitchen floor!

Tanner got knives.

Four knives, to be exact. Well, two knives, two machetes. They came in the most RIDICULOUSLY long, thin package I have ever seen. It's monster sized.

And...well, frankly, as I watched my dear husband open his knives at my parents' house, I realized that I didn't just marry a country boy. Oh, no. I married a redneck.

I should have realized it when he was watching the videos about the knives from the company he bought them from.

I felt a little wary of Tanner once he'd opened all these knives back at home. If I didn't know that my husband loves me, I'd be afraid of ending up like the Salesman's wife in Rear Window.

Chopped up.

So he was flipping through the knife magazine while in the meantime, the machetes were sitting on the kitchen floor in various states of sheathedness. I was trying to tidy up, so I came up behind him, poked him in the butt with the tip of a sheathed machete, and said, "we do NOT leave our machetes on the kitchen floor."

I thought it was funny. But Tanner had had very little sleep, and it didn't strike him as particularly funny, especially when, a few seconds before, I had been trying to get him to fold a pair of his pants that had been on the floor. Looking at the knife magazine was all he wanted to do at that point.

So I left off trying to be funny and went to bed with the hopes that everyone would wake up the next morning in one piece. And any burglars who want to steal the $2 we have saved up in the piggy bank, watch out. We're armed to the teeth, out here.

& That's elementary.