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Lent and Femininity

First off–this is a call to all those tech folks who understand how to edit CSS/HTML/BLAH BLAH BLAH in WordPress.  I’ve revamped the site, and I am still not happy with it.  I want the blue buttons to be orange.  That is all.  If you can help me with that, I will buy you a beer.

Second, I had an awesome anniversary weekend!  I haven’t uploaded the pictures yet, but I’ll do so tomorrow so that I can post them here.  Sorry for my latency!

To tide you over until the mushy romantic photos of tomorrow, I’ve decided to talk a little bit about LENT and FEMININITY.

First off, I’m Catholic, so I’m sticking to this no-meat on Fridays, and giving something up.  I thought about giving up alcohol (but my anniversary was Saturday, and I knew I’d want champagne) and I thought about giving up sweets (but that just seems selfish, as I would only be doing it to lose weight).  So I decided to give up cussing (or at least cut back momentarily, until I can train myself to quit it).

Mind you, this is a LOT harder than it seems.  Things have so much more gusto w/ “d*mn” or “h*ll” in front of them.  All my derns, dangs and hot diggities just don’t rile me or others up as much as I’d like.

I started thinking about all the times that people told me I talk like a sailor/mechanic/man.  I always smiled and thanked them–which I realized is a pretty feminist thing to do…or is it?  I guess in my mind, I was being told I talked blue collar.  I like blue collar, and I relish the fact that people see me that way.

Some say that women shouldn’t swear, though.  SOME.  And yes, I get that we’re supposed to be a little daintier than our brawny lumberjack men, but sometimes a good swear word is exactly what you need–man or woman.

A lot can be said for the tone in which something is said.  I’ve been more afraid of my mother when she wasn’t cussing, but rather talking through gritted teeth.  Same goes with my father.  And saying that makes me feel like a dog-ha ha.  But really, isn’t a swear word just a word?  I mean, without human involvement, it doesn’t mean anything.  It’s an arrangement of the characters that we call the English Alphabet.  So what?

But we define good and bad, because we need boundaries and definitions (ahem, man and woman) and sometimes those swear words just aren’t right in certain situations.

So is it feminist of me to want to talk like a sailor?  Or is it anti-feminist?  Or am I just using a word as a word, regardless of who it’s assigned to?

I believe that words are one of the tools provided equally to men and to women.  We can all say them, and to my knowledge (feel free to prove me wrong here), there has never been a law prohibiting someone from saying certain words.  Sounds like equality, freedom, and goodness to me.

Anniversary pictures tomorrow!

 
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Posted by on March 21, 2011 in Domesticity

 

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Catholic Guilt–Forgiving Myself for Saying Fuck

I have a tough conscience.  One that’s even tougher on me than anyone else’s judgment.

One that made a little girl say the Rosary at least fifteen times as she fell asleep the night she asked her mom what “fuck” meant, and why it had been written on the teeter totter at Sacred Heart School.  Beneath the light pink sheets and lavender comforter, she whispered Hail Mary’s between the lips that had spoken the word.  She couldn’t stop her tongue from wrapping around the words while she pleaded for forgiveness.  Repentance turned to repetition, to guilt.  With her fingers sliding over bead after bead, she reminded herself that she had said “the worst word in the world,” and for it, she would face certain eternity in Hell.

This, of course, was before I knew that there were worse words to say, and far worse things to do.

Day 3:  Something you have to forgive yourself for.

This one bothers me.  Something I have to forgive myself for?  Does that mean something that I’ve already forgiven myself for?  Or something that I’m still fighting with?

I bet it’s the one I don’t want to deal with.  I bet it’s the one I’m still fighting with…the one I haven’t forgiven myself for…

These questions make you realize how monumentally open the web is.  How open you are.  To everything.

For years after preschool, I felt horrible about snapping at my teacher.  Miss Missy (yes, that was her name and she was awesome.  I can still remember her perfume) tried to help me tie my shoe one time.  I must have been fussy, because I covered my laces, looked her in the eye and said, “I can do it.”  I couldn’t do it…but she sat there and watched me attempt it for God knows how long.  When I turned 18, I apologized to Miss Missy for this.  Of course she didn’t remember it, but she gave me a hug, and in the midst of the same warm arms and same perfume I had smelled 16 years prior, I forgave myself.

But that’s obviously an example of the first one.  Not the bad one.

…I still need to forgive myself for losing sight of some of my Catholic values.  This past summer, I went through a pretty dreadful bout of Catholic guilt…which is normal people guilt, only multiplied by at least 20.  If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, you know about this dreadful period of my life.  There is no need for details, but perhaps I will share them with you when I’ve actually forgiven myself.

 
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Posted by on November 12, 2010 in Daily Happenings, When I Was Young

 

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