passerine: Picture of Sparrow from Dykes to Watch For (Default)
[Rant. May be NSFW. Warnings: sexual language, people being stupid about mental illness.]

also cutting for length )
passerine: Picture of Sparrow from Dykes to Watch For (Default)
Betty Friedan seriously got it wrong when she wrote The Feminine Mystique. I'll use my usual paraphrase-summary to get the point across:

Nobody can possibly be fulfilled as a person by the drudgery that is domestic labor and housekeeping. So...hire a cleaning lady and go find yourself!

The sad part is? I've tripped over this particular Fail over and OVER again in relationship-advice and parenting-advice contexts. The key to domestic bliss is to hand your dirty work off to someone else, and not think too much about the meaning of that act. (Say what you will about Nickel and Dimed but that book is the reason that such a thing will forever be a non-option for me.)

Why can't we all learn to, literally, clean up our own shit?

ETA because I remembered what triggered that line of thought:

Epic Doctor Fail = an opthamologist informing me that I am responsible for making sure my husband eats healthy meals. Seriously, WHAT? [personal profile] invisionary has some Weird Issue With Seeing that has him passing standard eye tests just fine but makes the reading of a paperback book a headache-inducing ordeal. He also once tested a little bit high on a fasting glucose draw. Apparently, this means that I, being Teh Wifey, am supposed to play Diet Police if I care about his being able to get through school (and that [personal profile] invisionary putting in a request for reasonable accommodation to his school on these grounds would be totally out of order). So much FAIL. *sigh* Anyone know of a good eye-doc around the capital district?
passerine: Picture of Sparrow from Dykes to Watch For (Default)
This is an outgrowth of a few recent conversations with various people. And I understand the metaphor I will be using is quite imperfect.

I want to get this out there, though, because it's come to my attention that some people have the instinct to equate "Check Your Privilege" with "OMG YOU SUCK!" And that's not it, not at all. Because, really, if I think "OMG YOU SUCK!" I wouldn't bother with the request.

So...suppose you're going about your day, and someone tells you that your jeans aren't zipped.

Do you assume that what the person who points this out means is "OMG you sick disgusting perv, stop exposing yourself!!!eleventyone!!!" and thus respond with "HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A CHILD MOLESTER????!!??"

Do you not even bother to glance down, and instead simply look the other person in the eye and say, "No, it's not! What, do you think I'm stupid? You want me to look down at my jeans so you can hit me in the head and knock me out and steal my kidney and I'll never see it coming! I know what You People are like!"

Do you smirk and say, "Yeah, baby, I was hoping someone would notice!" and follow this up with pulling your pants down entirely?

...I didn't think so. And yet, the equivalent responses to a privilege-check request are every-freakin'-where.

What sadly seems to be in short supply is the sensible response: Look down; realize that yeah, your fly's down; zip up your damn pants; and thank the person who pointed it out to you for saving you from further embarrassment!

I know it's not that simple. But damn it all, I wish that it could be.


passerine: Picture of Sparrow from Dykes to Watch For (Default)
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