Driving thought tangents

While in my driving daze (Mike left the whole chicken in his car overnight and all day until I discovered that we had no chicken in our refrigerator) I was thinking about this new health care bill and what it says to women about women, which of course went off into another thought tangent as soon as I drove by the Saint Francis Xavier Church.

Last summer I would occasionally go for a run outside and would pass by this church. Whenever I would run by the church I would take those seconds and dedicate them to my spiritual growth. I am more of a spiritual person than a religious person thus running by the church was my church. Of course thinking about running brought me to another thought tangent.

I miss being able to run outside more frequently. When I first started running in middle school I lived on a dirt road. I loved the sound of my shoes hitting the rocky dirt and the way the trees would line the road. It made my own little private world. Now that I am in a city I do not like to run outside as much. I hate the traffic and the smell of exhaust. I hate waiting to cross the road and I hate that instead of my being able to go into a magical world of nature I am forced to take note of who is around me. Am I safe?

There have been enough tragedies that have happened to women in my life to make me weary. It does not help that a simple run just for me can easily turn into the unwanted objectification of my body as some idiot men yell at me from their car windows. It feels as if I cannot have even a little space in the world, which brings me back to my original thought.

The health care bill reinforces the idea that I as a woman cannot have a full right to my body. As a young woman in this current culture it is easy for me to sometimes feel like I cannot own my body and I cannot have space without it being infringed upon. Even so, I keep journeying along because I know I really do own my body and that I will be able to be present in space.

Minding breasts

Mostly, in the gym I like to have my music blasted so all communication is cut off except between my iPod and my head. Sometimes I’m sneaky and I turn my music down so that I can ease drop on conversations. Today while eloquently mounting the elliptical trainer I was blissfully unaware of my breasts until one frequent sweaty male member said to another, “Trust me after teaching breastfeeding for 20 plus years there is nothing I need to know about women’s breasts.” He was clearly amused about an article he just read. I looked quickly down at the magazine he was holding, Men’s Health.

Why is Men’s Health writing about my breasts? I want to know about my breasts, but men don’t want to know about my breasts. Apparently, according to “It takes two: What women really want you to know, think, and feel about their breasts”, there are four truths plus a final truth, which really makes five:

1. Women don’t think we’re total pigs about this.
2. Many women love their breasts more than you do.
3. Women can be deeply conflicted about their breasts.
4. In bed you know nothing about them.
5. Final truth:  “…there's a double standard about being endlessly presented with breasts and then being vilified for looking at them.”

I’ve decided a response was in order:

1. Yes we do. Exceptions: (a) you are hot (b) we want to have sex with you (c) we want something from you.
2. What evidence suggests that again? I’m not sure citing that 62% of women finding it more exciting to take off their tops than their bottoms really insights the conclusion that we love our breasts more than you do. Furthermore, finding that 78% of women prefer being on top because it shows of their breasts better during sex is more indicative of women’s acute knowledge that this will turn men on and that they (women) will more likely orgasm.
3. Thanks in most part to our society’s insistence that breasts defines female gender, sexuality, and identity.
4. In bed, out of bed, after reading Men's Health, you most likely just know nothing about breasts.
5. Boohoo. Welcome to the world of walking the line between being the sacred Madonna and the sultry slut.

My thoughtful conclusion: Tomorrow I’ll put on a bra that lifts the girls and possibly a sneak peak top and get pissed when you look at my breasts unless of course a,b, or c apply. Enjoy.