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I’m really dissatisfied with life lately.

And how wrong is misandry, really?  The article I linked to would say pretty bad.  But sometimes I fear it’s true–that I do truly hate men in general.  (I do not connect misandry with my feminism–not in the slightest.  I connect it with life experiences and a tendency to believe the worst about people.)

Bear in mind: I don’t hate all men.  I have men in my life who I like quite a bit, in fact.  This is a very generic sort of feeling that can be overcome.

The Kinsey Scale says that sexuality falls on a sliding scale, that few are 100% heterosexual or 100% homosexual.  The Klein Sexual Orientation Grid suggests that sexuality can change over time and is much more fluid than we sometimes believe.

You can connect the dots because I have to go wash dishes and head to bed.  (Ugh, dishes.)


I’m sick of only bad news in the news.

I’m also sick of reading articles about why we need feminism.  Not because I am not a feminist myself (as you should know by now that I am), but because it never changes.  Rape culture, patriarchy, stupidity…  UGH.  The other day I posted a thing on facebook that simply said we need to start respecting women for being human, not because they are sisters or mothers or daughters or wives.  And the only people who commented were men who quickly took up defensive postures to announce that respect is a two way street–that men need respect, too.  (No shit, Sherlock–not that this is a problem for most of them…)  My god: is it necessary to be so defensive of anything that might elevate a woman to your level?  (Automatic respect due to the penis.)

Enough on that. I’ll just get worked up again.  And I get too upset to even attempt to be clear, concise, eloquent… I just want to slap them all and tell them to learn to use their brains.  (This is everyone who doesn’t get it, not just men.)

I think I might have too much angst toward men to date them.  (Truth.)

Eugh. Bedtime.

In regard to my eyesight (which is awful), I finally have a number that will translate.  I’ve historically told my prescription in diopters, but that doesn’t make sense to most people (it’s around -9.25, but that’s with my astigmatism).  My most recent visit to the eye doctor finally provided me with the magic numbers the rest of you utilize: 20/7400.  Yep.  That means that if you can see something at 7,400 feet away, I have to be 20 feet away to see it.  7,400 feet is almost a mile and a half.  Crazy, right?  So now you know: my eyesight really is bad.

I need to quit trying to talk to most men about, well, anything of substance.  I get so riled up when they assume their privileged “I have a penis” status.  I hate-hate-hate how so many men act that way.  They over-shadow, bully, talk-over, gang-up, are just plain jerks who know everything.  Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about.  I’m so sick of it.

I’m tired of being poor.  But I know I have several more years ahead of me.  Perhaps the rest of my life.  I do finally have a retirement plan: I’ll just move overseas somewhere cheap and join the local expat retiree community.  It’s certainly not a bad plan.

Oh lands. I need friends down here.  But other than attending church, I can’t figure out how to find any.  And I’m really not interested in going to church, considering I hate it.


I want to know why so many of us are still afraid of and/or in disdain of feminists.  Why are our adjectives so negative?  “Angry feminists” or “militant feminists,” neither have good connotations, and those are just two that come immediately to mind.

If these feminists are angry, perhaps it is for a good reason?  Have you read their works?  Almost every feminist book I have read starts with a personal story (or two) of hurt, betrayal, abuse, etc. by men in their lives: husbands, fathers, spiritual leaders and so on.  These stories are often heart-wrenching.

Yet when we look at feminists (i.e. women who are brave and strong enough to stand up, tell their story, and insist that the wrongs are righted), we judge them, we malign them, we have no sympathy or empathy for the real hurts they have experienced.  We insist that in the US things are pretty damn good for women: women can vote, they can wear pants, they can get jobs, they can stay single.  So obviously, equality has arrived, feminism is passé.

But… what about the wage gap?  What about the many jobs that are denied to women, either overtly or covertly?  What about the societal pressure for women to be married, the stigma that comes along with a single woman that rarely is given to a single man?  What about all the ways, big and small, that women are still regarded as property or objects to be bought and sold?  What about rape culture?  What about the fact that so many men only see women as walking vaginas?

We’re not equal.  Justice has yet to occur.  Feminism is still needed, but not just by women.  We need men to stand alongside us, to affirm our equality, to not be threatened by women.  If men lose the place they’ve held so long in society, the understanding should be that their place was ill-got and unjustly held.  There was never supposed to be a hierarchy.  But in every way possible, society upholds the false dichotomy between women and men.

Come on, folks.  Let’s get over ourselves. 

Let’s get a few things straight.

The curse, after the Fall, is description, not prescriptive.  In regard to women says, “I will greatly  multiply your pain in childbirth, in pain you shall bring forth children; yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.” (Genesis 3:16 NASB)

It doesn’t say “your desire will be to rule over your husband” or any nonsense like that.  It says, despite the fact it’s going to hurt like hell to give childbirth, you’re still going to desire your husband (and what follows that… babies) and he will rule over you.  That sounds about right when you look at the general human condition for the past couple thousand years.  Women want the men in their lives and men treat the women like shit.  I mean children.  Or slaves or property.

That doesn’t mean that’s what God intended.  It means that’s what ended up happening, due to sin.  Now, you can choose to live under the curse, or you can choose to live beyond it.

And the male pronoun “he” is NOT genderless.  Say what you want: it implies gender and it always has.  The female pronoun “she” does not convey more gender than the male pronoun.  It conveys the same amount.  Since English does not have a neuter pronoun that indicates personhood, why are we so afraid of using “he” and “she” interchangeably?  God does not have gender, so why must we assign it?  And if saying “he” doesn’t indicate maleness, then why on earth would saying “she” indicate femaleness?  Do you want to be stuck in an oppressive religion and culture forever?

Moreover, Jesus’ gender on earth does not dictate his deity.  Rather, the other way around should be true.  Jesus is a perfect human, not a perfect man.  (But as one writer noted, tongue in cheek, “If [Jesus] had been female, no one would have noticed when he gave up his life for the sake of others.”  Not to mention the cultural climate would probably not have taken him seriously if he had come as a woman.)

Think about it.  And free yourself to serve a genderless God who is equally for both women and men.

Did you know I’m moving home in two weeks?  Two weeks isn’t very long to completely “finish” researching for my thesis…  I’m working my way down my outline systematically, tackling every point before moving onto the next.  I think this strategy might work.  In any case, when the time is up, it’s up.

Researching and writing about the imago Dei and the Trinity in light of gender should be rewarding.  And I think it is…  But at the same time, it makes me disenchanted with my faith.  And, of course, reading feminist writings reminds me that I believe in a religion that was communicated by men for men, historically.  Throughout most of the written record of the Bible, women were viewed as little more than property.  And this is the belief system I adhere to?  It’s discouraging, to say the least.

One way or another, I’ll pull through.  I’ll finish my thesis; I’ll graduate.

And then I’ll escape to Ecuador.