Needing being needed

When does being supportive slip into co-dependency?

My Grandma, who had a large part in my raising, was born to a well off middle class family in the 19th Century. The role of womanhood which she presented was to help and support her men-folk and I imbibed co-dependency with my morning cereals. On the other hand I also learned that although men are loud and shouty and useful for heavy lifting, they aren’t necessarily that bright and in fact it takes a woman to understand the subtleties.

I emerged from my up-bringing believing myself very capable, thinking that men only see half the picture, and believing it is appropriate for me to enable my partner to Do His Work. Grandma acknowledged that the Work men Do is often Important, even if it is lopsided and frequently misses the point. On the other hand, she sent her daughter to university and certainly we grand-daughters were expected to enter professions rather than get jobs, so maybe she was a seething mass of feminist frustration all along but being a five year old, I didn’t notice. She could certainly be very impatient with men. Her motto was “‘I’ll do it myself’, said the Little Red Hen”, and my problem with feminism has always been to question why women should lower themselves to equality.

Now, whenever I get into a relationship, I can end up putting myself out to enable my partner to Do His Work. I do it consciously, I do it sparingly, and I tend to do it when it really does make a difference. However, I have previously been supportive of partners to my own emotional, financial or professional detriment. I am rougher and tougher than I used to be, and have much firmer boundaries, but the instincts to be supportive are still there.

What I struggle with, is whether or not it is a Bad Thing.

John Grey and Dorothy Parker

What I say is what I mean.
what you see is what you get,
what I think shows on my face,
and yet you’re still confused, my pet?

Swallow the dictionary

I once told a friend that I was having sex there isn’t a term for. Spent him mad with prurient speculation for a week.

Hah!

Serves him right, the dirty-minded bastard.

I quite like being in a minority so obscure it’s nameless. It makes me feel special, unique and ever so slightly smug. Not attractive attributes, I’ll admit.

I was of course told that I was a SOFFA. Significant-Other, Friends and FAmily. It’s a term I dislike because it’s too generic. It implies that it’s ok for trans-men and women to have social networks or be in emotional or domestic relationships but that no-one would actually want to get down and dirty with them. There’s no suggestion at all of body fluids or pulled muscles. It looks like a typo, an’ I don’ wanna be no fuckin’ typo.

Someone suggested pansexual. This sounds unnecessarily goatish to me. Urbandictionary.com gives:

2. Noun: A person who is sexually interested in other people regardless of gender including males, females, transsexuals, transvestites, gender benders, hermaphrodites, intersexuals, androgynous people, and those with sex-chromosome anomaly such as klinefelter syndrome or turner syndrome.

Ye-es. But I don’t wander around like a bitch in heat. As his gynaecologist told me, “…. you look so straight”. Mind you, he’d had a couple to drink or he wouldn’t have said it. Bless. But the thing is, he’s right, I am pretty straight. I’m just not heterosexual. Or not just heterosexual.

Pansexual 3. Noun: … a person who associates with people of all sexual orientations but is not necessarily interested in sex with people of all sexes or genders ….

That’s for fag-hags who want to graduate.

Then there’s polysexual. Which sounds like parrots to me. Psittacosis should not be a sexually transmitted disease. Urbandictionary.com describes polysexuality thus:

to be attracted to or sexually aroused by a variety of different objects, lifestyles or activities, for example, learning, reading, gardening, massage etc.

Now, I’ll admit that a good pun can make me whimper and I made inappropriate noises at work the first time I saw visual thesaurus , but I’m not actually polysexual. I’m not even that into toys.

Finally, I’ve come across the term Anthrosexual, which urbandictionary.com defines like this:

Anthrosexuality … means being attracted to humans. The word ‘anthro’ comes from the Greek ‘anthropos’ which means ‘man’ or ‘human’.

Anthrosexuality is … like bisexuality, except that it refers to all genders and ‘in-betweens’. It is the blindness to another’s gender or sex. The personality of a person is what attracts an anthosexual person and the connection that is shared between two people.

Anthrosexuals don’t have a list of acceptable genders and lifestyles. Instead, they have no list and see people for what they really are: Human Beings. (My italics).

I can recognise myself in that definition. But I do wish, firstly, that it wasn’t obviously going to be the pose de jour for skinny little gothettes with more sincerity than sense, and secondly that it didn’t sound like sex with a biological weapon.

The one I go to bed with has an unusual back story, but it doesn’t feature Porton Down.

The eye of the beholder - 1

This ad on my local freecycle list amused me:

Settee

Probably 1960/70s lg. greeny-brown or browny-green (depending on gender) settee complete with fringe around the bottom, lg. square arms, sprung interior - very retro. Good condition/comfortable. Foam cushions.

Photo available.

Disgrace notes

2004. I am waiting in the foyer of a London hotel to meet the man I am having an affair with. My handbag is large and slung from my shoulder. It contains a selection of scarves, condoms, lube and other bits and pieces. I have no other baggage. It is February and there is a light sprinkling of snow on the ground. I am wearing a fur coat. The young man at the desk accepts my payment up front without bothering to ask if I will be wanting a newspaper in the morning. I realise that he assumes that I will be making a profit out of the afternoon, though in fact I am an amateur doing it for fun.

---

2006. My lover wakes me suddenly out of a sleep he didn’t know I was having. There is some confusion and I end up crying as I tend to when woken quickly from post-coital sleep. He ends up bewildered and distressed. Neither of us know what we are fighting about. Neither of us want a complex scene. As I go down on him, I reflect that oral sex is the great ender of squabbles and that if it weren’t for the risk of infection I would like a tongue piercing. Sometimes I wish I was not quite so sensible.

---

1982. Students. I have arranged a girls’ night out with a friend. I have a shower, wash my hair and I ruefully acknowledge as I shave my legs that I am preparing my body as I would for a lover. Later, I realise that sex with another woman is the nearest I will get to sex with myself; I love the soft mirror-image of myself in bed beside me.

---

1983. Still students. I am at a party, a formal ball in fact. The young men are in DJs the young women in satiny gowns. It is late and four of us are piled, kitten-like, in a huge arm chair. For no particular reason I am kissing her escort, and she is kissing mine. Someone elsewhere in the room says “swap partners” but we already have. I look at her and she looks at me. We smile and start kissing each other. The quality of silence in the room changes.

---

2002. I am standing outside a hotel with my lover and a young girl who works at the hotel. She is bright, funny, clever, sexy, charming. Who wouldn’t fancy her? She is also talkative and, standing in the street lights as we say goodnight, I do not have the time to say to him “I fancy her, do you fancy her?” So the three of us go our separate ways. I see her once again some time later and we go out for a meal and some drinks. She is the first person I tell the story of how I lost my virginity. I don’t sleep with her that time either. Looking back, I am not sure why.

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1971. Childhood. I am standing in a secluded part of the playground at school with another girl and a boy. We are playing “aliens”. It consists mainly of cautious explorations of each others’ bodies. There are no kisses. There are no naked parts. There is however sexual tension, though we do not understand it at the time.

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2006. Another formal ball. My lover’s gynaecologist is there. He is a little drunk and rather puppyish. Like all male gynaecologists he is deeply charming. He remembers my lover’s hysterectomy and tells him about other work he has done with trans-people since then. He keeps on saying “good on yer, mate”. At one point he blinks at my myopically and says “… but you look so straight….”

---

The bauria language in India has a word which means “to love falsely”. Well, there’s a thing.It also has a word which means “to love for the last time”.I dread that.

Gender meme

It’s not mimetic and lazy blogging. It’s feminism. Right? This is mandarine’s gender meme.

1. Three things you do that women usually do

Wear matching undies.

Come over all unnecessary near firemen.

Wear perfume.

2. Three things you do that men usually do

Negotiate with builders.

Rebuild the household PC.

Fall deeply asleep immediately after sex.

3. Three things you do that women usually don’t do

Reverse park in on go, three weeks out of four anyway.

Swear. Like a fucking trooper. In a sewer.

Drive more than 20,000 miles a year.

4. Three things you do that men usually don’t do

Spend four hours solid on the phone to a girlfriend, and at the same time finish the ironing, cook supper, sort the laundry and tidy the kitchen.

Have my legs and underarms waxed. Though in this meterosexual world, that’s hardly a differentiator.

Dye my hair.

5. Three things you don’t do that women usually do

Shower or bathe every day. I am well socialised so most of the time I’m hygenic but left to myself I’d be, well, left to myself.

Iron sheets. I don’t iron anything much really, which is why finishing the ironing doesn’t take long, but is put off for months.

Bitch about people; I never say anything behind somone’s back that I wouldn’t - in a pinch - be willing to say to their face.

6. Three things you don’t do that men usually do

Watch sport.

Drink beer.

Mow the lawn. Ever.

7. Three things you don’t do that women usually don’t do

Fart in public.

Tailgate.

Choose someone else as the nominated driver.

8. Three things you don’t do that men usually don’t do

Calorie count.

Lie about my age.

Disagree with my escort in public. Gentlemen don’t do this, and neither do I.

Sisterhood is for bitches

I tumbled across a this on FtM Doctor’s blog today, and have been choking on my reaction ever since.

The story is about a feminist music festival in Michigan which is explicitly for “womyn-born womyn” and explicitly excludes trans women. Presumably they also explicitly excludes trans men. In fact, it is not actually a story, it is a press release, explaining the organisers’ point of view.

The language is interesting, veering between the hate-filled and the overly emotive. At one point the organiser of the “womyn-born womyn” sends the following email to the leader of “camp trans”.

I deeply desire healing in our communities, and I can see and feel that you want that too. I would love for you and the other organizers of Camp Trans to find the place in your hearts and politics to support and honor space for womyn who have had the experience of being born and living their life as womyn. I ask that you respect that womon born womon is a valid and honorable gender identity. I also ask that you respect that womyn born womyn deeply need our space — as do all communities who create space to gather, whether that be womyn of color, trans womyn or trans men . . . I wish you well, I want healing, and I believe this is possible between our communities, but not at the expense of deeply needed space for womyn born womyn.

The self-righteous emotional manipulation of this is nauseating, with its talk of “deeply desire[ing] healing”, “respect” and “deeply needed space”s.

We strongly assert there is nothing transphobic with choosing to spend one week with womyn who were born as, and have lived their lives as, womyn. It is a powerful, uncommon experience that womyn enjoy during this one week of living in the company of other womyn-born womyn. There are many opportunities in the world to share space with the entire queer community, and other spaces that welcome all who define themselves as female.

Is it unkind of me to consider the spaces and places that I have spent with “womyn-born womyn” this past week, which include a women-only gym and the WI? It is not hard to find women-only groups, if that’s what you need for a while. I’ve been on women-only holidays and women-only retreats. I was educated in part at an all girls’ school.

Of course the gym, and the WI aren’t full of radical feminists or …

womyn who could be considered gender outlaws, either because of their sexual orientation (lesbian, bisexual, polyamorous, etc.) or their gender presentation (butch, bearded, androgynous, femme – and everything in between). … gender variant womyn …. ” or women who ” … consider themselves differently gendered

… so far as I know.

I find myself wondering why the organisers exclude trans women if the spread of women at the festival is so broad, (yes, I know, the “deeply-needed space” thing) and also whether or not there are any straight married mothers there, or whether monogamous heterosexuals are not welcome either.

Rather than rant on and on about this, I will conclude with three final comments.

Firstly, it would be acceptable for the “womyn” of Michigan to create an activity exclusivly for “womyn-born women” if, on other occasions, they created events which were exclusively for other sub-sets of women, for example women who have been abused, or widowed, or who are lesbians, or indeed trans. But to exclude trans women and only trans women smacks of the “all men are rapists” school of separatist radical feminism which de-personalises half of the human race in a way which is as unjust and unacceptable as the de-personalising of women by men which went on for centuries before.

Secondly, I wonder if this is actually personal. If it isn’t about all trans women, but about one particular trans woman, if the organisers lacked the balls to exclude her and if they therefore decided to exclude them all. I find this theory rather compelling, given how petty, emotional and factional groups of women can become. See quotes above.

Finally, I put the press release through Gender Genie, and it scored 30% female and 70% male. Which made me snigger. Bitch that I am.

Shock news - I’m female

I am, apparently, female. But not very. Especially not when I am writing about my eggs.

Blog	Female Percentage	Male Percentage
There should be a special level of hell…	55%	45%
… a woman’s work is never done	52%	48%
Saved by a meme	53%	47%
Migraines II	62%	38%
Summer flowers, winter mornings	75%	25%
Sofa so good	42%	58%
Amazon, my river of shame	31%	69%
“Aphra Behn racism poems”	55%	45%
Exercise and the placebo feel good factor	55%	45%
Scrambled Eggs	47%	53%
Averages	53%	47%

I’m not entirely sure what to make of this. The analysis of my writing style came from Gender Genie.

I feel peeved that my gender is so obvious in what I write, and also peeved that my femininity only just shows through.

There I go, wanting it both ways.

Again.

I’m looking forward to December when I don’t have to scrabble round for blog subjects, and I can think more and write less.

Abortions, sex changes, genetic defects

I offer you two thoughts from two different sites.

First - 21st century data in the UK: “A patient will not be entitled to refuse to make their personal data available to the [NHS] Spine [data systems]. Data about all patient events may be routinely communicated to the Spine without the consent of the patient. … The citizen has no legal right to stipulate what will and will not be recorded … nor where those records will be held.”

And secondly - 20th century data in Germany: “Only after Jews were identified — a massive and complex task that Hitler wanted done immediately — could they be targeted for efficient asset confiscation, ghettoization, deportation, enslaved labor, and, ultimately, annihilation. It was a cross-tabulation and organizational challenge so monumental, it called for a computer. Of course, in the 1930s no computer existed. But … punch card technology did exist. … [and] Hitler was able to automate his persecution of the Jews … from the identification of the Jews in censuses, registrations, and ancestral tracing programs to the running of railroads and organizing of concentration camp slave labor.”

The problem of course is not with data, per se. NHS staff are a pretty benign bunch. The problem comes when people with strong convictions have relatively friction-free access to data, and it is compounded when data becomes more enduring.
In this world of increasing fundamentalism, I am not comfortable that the health service can record abortions, gender re-assignments, genetic abnormalities, and other politically, socially or financially sensitive information, that they can record it in ways that mean that the data is pervasive and enduring, and that they can record it against our will.

Mary Kay: an abusive business model?

Like most people on WordPress I’m sure, I’ve become an addicted reader of Mary Kay Sucks (now moved to www.pinktruth.com), and originally this post was a series of musings on multi-level-marketing in general and MK in particular. However, it morphed half way though into one single Great Big unaMusing on the subject which, to be honest, has spooked me. I’d welcome any thoughts from any ex MKers, or anyone else for that matter.

You see, it seems to me that the dynamic of Mary Kay is very similar to the dynamic of abusive relationships.

I’m reminded of the character in Terry Pratchett’s book Guards! Guards! who ends up enslaved to a mind-reading dragon. All he can do is mouth “help me” in silent desperation to the head of the Assassin’s Guild. And what sort of help can an assassin provide? Quite.

Taken as a whole, posts and comments and all, it would appear that the entire organisation is made up of just such people; women who know that they are destroying their own lives and who are actively destroying the lives of others, but who are caught so deep they dare not think for themselves and cannot escape.

This is so like an abusive relationship that there is a doctorate in sociology or psychology right there, waiting to be done.

• Testimony from women who were in too deep to leave? - Check
• The realisation that their thought processes were not their own? - Check
• The experience of being lied to?
• The conclusion that they had been brainwashed?
• A history of being alternately praised and damaged and praised again? Check, check, check.

In an abusive relationship, the abuser isolates the abused person from friends and family members and strips away the abused person’s sense of self and their sense of self-preservation. Once the abused person is stuck in the situation, then the abuser creates and fosters guilt and duty and, more than anything else, creates and feeds a fear of leaving. Meanwhile somewhere in the back of the abused person’s brain there is one part which whispers “help me”, but it has to whisper it silently in case the other part of the brain hears.

I am not for a moment suggesting that the people currently still involved in MK realise that this is the dynamic that they are presenting to the world, and everything I have said here is my opinion only. However, the more I consider my own experience of relationships and of MLM, and compare it with what I read on MKS and on the internet, the more the thing chimes in my head.

Really nasty, isn’t it?

I’ve got other thoughts on MK, but this was the Great Big Hairy one.