Southern Belle Side Note: A friend worth peeing on...

In honor of Women's History Month, I thought I would share a bit of my own history about none other than my very best friend... a friend worth peeing on.

Background

Her name is Sara (pronounced Sair-uh) while my name is Sarah (which we jokingly pronounce Sair-Huhhhhhh for the "h"); there is something about Sara(h)s where we tend to attract each other. 

We were both born in the same town, went to the same school for a few years, attended the same church for even longer and spent many a YMCA work-out class giggling and sweating together which cemented our friendship. 

Fortunately, that has allowed our relationship to survive long-distance in college as we go to schools more than 4 hours away from each other. We bridge that gap with frequent texts and facebook messages - plus, we have at least a once-a-week phone date.

In fact, we just ended a phone date which inspired this post!

Setting 

Last summer, Sair-uh and I were at the beach with another friend, Katie. It was a beautiful sunny day without a cloud in the sky. We had been laying out (so not a good idea for me... I'm the one with the awful burn below!) but it was bloody hot so we left our towels and headed to the ocean for some relief in the cool water. 

The Incident

The three of us had not gone far. We were wading about chest-deep in the water, letting the waves wash over our shoulders as we continued our chit chat. It was incredibly relaxing. 

All of a sudden though, Sara did not appear very relaxed. 

She shot up out of the water with a squeal and made it back to the shore, I swear in one swift jump. After that, she took off limping on one leg, heading straight for our things, kicking up sand in her wake. 

Katie and I, horrified at what lay inches below the surface swimming at our feet (oh, and worried about Sara, of course!), sprang up almost as high as her, hoping to make it to the shore in one swift leap like Sara so that we could escape the ocean unscathed. Fortunately, we succeeded and then dashed off after her.

We found her wincing in pain with her foot plunged into our ice chest, a red streak forming on her leg. 

The Culprit

It's funny because when I tell this story to friends at college who are not from the south, they haven't a clue what happened. For all they know, she could have been attacked by some awful, under-water sea monster. 

Close enough: she had been stung by a jellyfish : /

Now that might look unsuspecting, even pretty you might think. And, really, with a name like "jelly" fish, how bad can it be? That sounds cute and innocent enough, right?

Wrong. 

Any true Southern Belle knows a jellyfish can do quite a number on ya, since some species are venomous.

The Rescue

Well, poor Sara had quite a number done on her. 

 This wasn't her but, in case you've never seen a sting, it looked kinda like that but smaller and on her leg. Yea: ouch!

The red welt on her leg was spreading and she was near tears. 

At this point, I had to help.

And any true Southern Belle knows the old wives' tale that the best defense for a jellyfish sting is urine. (This is another funny moment when sharing this story with non-southern friends. They've never heard the wives' tale so they just think I am a nut as they do not see my logical conclusion that jellyfish sting = time to pee on someone!)

And Sara - well, she's a friend worth peeing on.

Desperate times do call for desperate measures ;)

Tears spilling over, ice melting and red welt growing, the time had officially become "desperate."

I asked if she wanted me to pee on her, just to make sure. I knew we were about to enter a new closeness in our relationship ;)

She said, "Yes!!! It hurts!" 

As she was removing her leg from the ice chest and Katie was lifting one of our towels as a make-shift modesty-ensuring curtain, I was lowering into the pop-a-squat position. 

The Real Rescue

Just in time, a lady from a nearby set of beach umbrellas must have looked up from her book to see all of this unfold as she came rushing over offering some meat tenderizer.

Yet again, this is a funny point in the re-telling of this to non-southerners. They are utterly dumb-founded at what the significance of meat tenderizer is. Any one from the Southern culture knows that meat tenderizer might as well be called magic potion for treating jellyfish stings. 

So we quickly sprinkled (hmm, this verb does not seem adequate to describe the frantic and thorough application... maybe: "splattered") the meat tenderizer on her leg.

Crisis averted. I did not pee on my best friend. 

But I would have ;) 

And that is just a bit of history about a woman in my life and some of the Southern culture! 

Disclaimer 

This site says that urine is, in fact, not helpful. I know oodles of old southerners who would debate that. 

My advice: best thing to do is simply to come prepared and keep some meat tenderizer with you!

"You may all go to Hell - and I will go to Texas"... to celebrate Women's History Month

  

You may all go to Hell - and I will go to Texas. 

Those aren't my words. They're Davy Crockett's. 

But he was onto something. 

Though I don't wish anyone to go to hell, I do wish you'd all go to Texas! 

I recently had the pleasure of visiting over my Spring break. I saw lots of cute cowboys strutin their stuff in their blue jeans, boots and over-sized belt-buckles but I wondered why do they get all the credit as the tough Texans.

I figured there had to be some impressive Texas women. 

And I was right!

Since March is Women's History Month I thought it absolutely appropriate to do (and share) a little research on them ;) 

  

This website had several impressive Texan cowgirls; here are some of my favorites: 

• Angelina: She is the only woman to have a Texas river, a county, and a national forest named for her. In 1690, the name Angelina was given at baptism to a Native-American woman who was educated by Spanish friars at the Mission of San Juan Bautista on the Rio Grande and perhaps also at the College of Zacatecas. She spoke Spanish as well as several Indian languages so she became a translator, including translating for an expedition that founded the Alamo and the city of San Antonio. 

 

•  Sarah Horton Cockrell: (1819 – 1892) She was a very successful businesswoman who built the first iron bridge over the Trinity River at Dallas in 1872 and Dallas' first three-story hotel. Left a widow with small children in 1858, all she had was a stack of debts and her husband's ferry business. She thought big and invested wisely. She set up her own corporations, the Dallas Bridge Company, and the S. H. Cockrell Co., which owned a flour mill. When she died in 1892, her properties were so extensive that her will had to be published in pamphlet form. 

   

•  Bessie Coleman: (1892-1926) She was one of the first licensed female pilots and the world's first black female aviator and barnstormer, had a spectacular but brief career in air shows. She was born in Atlanta, Texas, the twelfth of 13 children. Her mother, an illiterate former slave, borrowed books so Bessie could learn to read. She encouraged young blacks to become involved in aviation. She once refused to perform in Waxahachie, where she had grown up, until blacks were allowed to use the same entrance as whites to the exhibition. Black aviators memorialized her by naming their flying clubs and their magazine after her. In 1990, a street to Chicago's O'Hare Airport was named Bessie Coleman Drive, and, in 1995, the U.S. Postal Service issued a commemorative stamp in her honor.

 

•  Sarah T.Hughes: (1896-1985) She was an attorney, legislator, women's rights activist, United Nations supporter, and Texas' first female state and federal judge. A member of a Dallas law firm from 1923 to 1935, she was elected to her first term in the Texas House of Representatives as a Democrat in 1930 and voted "Most Valuable Member" her second term.She was national president of the Federation of Business and Professional Women's Clubs in 1952. The national organization spearheaded her nomination for the vice presidency on the Democratic Party ticket that year, the first woman ever considered, though she withdrew her name. And, after Kennedy's assassination in 1963, she administered the Presidential oath of office to Lyndon B. Johnson.
  
   
• Mildred "Babe" Didrikson Zaharias: (1911 – 1956) She earned more medals and set more records in more sports than any other athlete, male or female, in the twentieth century. She dominated the women's events at the 1932 Olympics, winning three gold medals and setting world records in the 80-meter hurdles and the javelin throw. She excelled in every sport she tried and, in particular, won every existing women's golf title. In 1953, she was elected to the Texas Sports Hall of Fame. The only race she ever lost was to cancer, in 1956. 

• Sarah Ragle Weddington: (1945 – ) She is best known for having successfully argued the 1973: Roe v. Wade abortion rights case before the U.S. Supreme Court. She was one of only 40 among 1,600 students at the law school at the University of Texas at Austin. She was active in the Texas women's movement, lobbied in the Texas Legislature for passage of the Equal Rights Amendment and was a founder of the Texas Women's Political Caucus. She was elected to the Texas House of Representatives in 1972 and helped with the following: 

• change the law that prevented women from getting credit cards in their own names
• stopped schools from firing pregnant teachers
•  improved the treatment of rape victims.

•  Also, under President Jimmy Carter, she became general counsel for the Department of Agriculture in Washington, an advisor to the president on women's issues, and later became a member of the White House senior staff. She now teaches at the University of Texas at Austin, writes, and speaks publicly, particularly about women and leadership.

Pretty impressive, right? 

I bet there are even more impressive women in your own state. So look them up. 

ALSO, celebrate the women in Your. Own. History.

One of the things I did on my trip was visit family and look at old family photographs. I got to see a picture of my great, great, great grandmother!?! Talk to your moms, aunts, grandmothers and others to learn about the women you came from.  

This month's 2011 theme is "Our History is Our Strength." 

I hope you find both.

Happy Women's History Month!!!

Bathrooms rather than Boardrooms... Female Networking

One of my dearest friends - Chelsea - and I have built our relationship in the bathroom.

I know that sounds odd but it is true.

I cannot tell you the countless conversations we have had in our 3 years as house-mates; the funny thing is that most of them have occurred in the bathroom.

Not our rooms.
Or the kitchen.
Not even our fabulous porch.

But the bathroom. There is something about the bathroom that for women creates an immediate bond and a safe haven to let the floodgates of communication burst open.

And I'm not talking just a gossip fest or make-up advice.

I'm talking stresses and successes of the day.
Crush updates.
Family dramas.
Hopes and dreams.

Chelsea and I have covered all of that and more all while applying mascara, preparing for a shower or straightening our hair and those sorts of things.

I cannot tell you how many quick trips to the bathroom to brush my teeth or paint my toes ended up being an hour-long conversation over things as minor as our exercise plan and as major as how we plan to impact the world one day.

Something tells me that boys just don't do this.

I might be wrong but take a look at any public restroom line and its pretty easy to see which gender lingers in the bathroom ;)

But it wasn't until last week at the Women in Business Conference sponsored and organized by the Center for Women that I realized female bonding in the bathroom is an effective tool for networking.

The conference - Pathways to Power - was absolutely wonderful and I met a ton of great, powerful, successful women. There were even organized sessions of speed networking much like I have mentioned before, buuuuuuutttttt the place I made the most connections and swapped the most business cards was.....

You guessed it: in the bathroom. 

Starting with a simple "cute shoes" or "I love that lip gloss" opened that floodgate of female communication and connection - aka networking.

Seriously, for women, business deals can at least be started - if not made - in bathrooms rather than boardrooms. It's a Southern Belle kinda way to do business ;)

We, as women, need to keep this in mind and take advantage of it... also, any guys reading this might want to consider the strategy (in your own bathroom, that is!).

The Ladies bathroom - a safe and solely female space - is full of opportunity for female networking.

It goes back to point of view - the next time you're stuck in a long line waiting to pee...  assuming, you aren't doing this....

you could, in all seriousness, not complain though it might be hard to do - especially if the line looks like this:

But such a situation is the perfect opportunity to make lemonade out of the lemons (or long lines) that life hands you!

Next time you're in a long bathroom line, make the most of it as an opportunity to do a little networking!

Point of View is Important - February 14th and Conception ;)

Point of view IS important.

The exact same thing can be quite different depending on your point of view.

Take this past Monday, February 14th, for example.

To most in a relationship or on the cusp of one, February 14th is Valentine's Day... full of love and chocolate and kisses.

To everyone else, February 14th is Singles Awareness Day... one of my friends recently pointed out that its abbreviation actually spells S.A.D.

Ouch.

But in reality, February 14th is just a day... it only changes with your point of view (aka relationship status).

I recently read another great example where the exact same thing changes depending on the point of view:

Conception.

Yes, for real...

Thanks to my Gender and Society textbook ;)

Here is what it said:

You've probably imagined sperm as hardy warriors swimming purposefully upstream, against the current, on a suicide mission to fertilize that egg, or die. (p29)

Right? Now, that clearly is the point of view of the SPERM. And it sounds like all I have ever heard before about conception: to quote Dori out of context from Finding Nemo, I imagine the sperm: "Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming."  All with intense purpose. Maybe even wearing helmets or goggles ;)

However, my book continues and shows a very uncommon take on conception:

Here's what it actually looks like: [A] wastefully huge swarm of sperm weakly flops along, its members bumping into walls and flailing aimlessly through thick strands of mucus. Eventually, through sheer odds of pinball-like bouncing... a few sperm end up close enough to an egg. As they mill around, the egg selects one and reels it in, pinning it down in spite of its efforts to escape. It's no contest, really. The gigantic hardy egg yanks the tiny sperm inside, distills out the chromosomes, and sets out to become an embryo. (p 29, quoting"The Aggressive Egg" by David Freeman)

Definitely different, right? That point of view clearly comes from the EGG.

Point of view IS important.

So, whether it is February 14th or conception or whatever else you're dealing with... be sure to consider your point of view - you can choose to view the situation as a glass half full or a glass half empty.

And if this past Monday got you down (or S.A.D.), at the risk of being too corny, I remind you that there are other fish in the sea and I'll leave you with this little motto from Dori, my favorite Finding Nemo character:

Lastly, I apologize if, like Nemo's dad, you get stuck with that song in your head ;)

Barbie Syndrome... even for boys

I have a love/hate relationship with Barbie.

I do like her, believe me. I had what would probably be considered too many Barbie things growing up:

• I had a small army of nearly 50 (k, maybe that is an exaggeration... 30?) Barbies - men, women, even retro ones - some of my aunts' dolls from the 70s that my Granny kept. 

• Then there was the hot pink, remote-controlled convertible. Oh yes! 

• And, the crowning glory: my 3-story, bright pink Barbie Dream-House complete with an elevator and a cat that purred from the kitchen sink windowsill. No lie.

My Barbies - even just one - provided endless hours of entertainment. 


And they also provided 

the breeding ground for body and beauty insecurities. 

For me and nearly every other girl in America.

It is no surprise really.

BARBIE WAS THE TOP-SELLING TOY IN THE 20th CENTURY!?! (1)

So she affected a lot of girls. But not in a good way.

Check out this comparison of the average woman and Barbie: (1)

                      Height:             5'4"                            6'

                Weight:            145 lbs.                      101 lbs. 

                Dress Size:       11-14                          4 

                Bust:                 36-37"                        39"

                Waist:               29-31"                        19"

                Hips:                 40-42"                       33"

Frightening right?

A more accurate Barbie might look like this: 

But would we still play with her? Want to dress her up? 

I think there should be a balance between unattainable beauty standards but also health. I'm not sure that the above picture strikes that balance but it certainly does make a point: 

Barbies don't look like real women. 

This is being dubbed "Barbie Syndrome."(1)

The odd thing is that it has started to affect boys as well. 

It seems their dolls (excuse me: "action figures"), have set some pretty high body standards as well. 

"Male action figures have grown increasingly muscular over the years. GI Joes, for example, have biceps that are twice as large as those of a typical man and larger than those of any known bodybuilder. These action figures (and comic strip heroes) put boys at risk of developing the 'Barbie Syndrome' - unrealistic expectations for their bodies. As a result, some researchers maintain, increasing numbers of men are becoming preoccupied with working out and taking dangerous drugs such as anabolic steroids" (1) emphasis added

Good, maybe people will pay attention to the problem now. 

Don't get me wrong, I still wear pink and high heels and I wouldn't mind driving a pink convertible around BUT I'd like to do that without worrying about blowing away in the wind because I don't weigh enough to be fully human and healthy. 

Also, I'd love for my future daughter one day to have a Barbie Dream-House and all that I had but 

my hope is that...

her Barbies will provide a realistic body image. 

Further, I hope that her Barbie will be arriving at her Dream-House, getting back from some fabulous job where she will be far too busy planning exciting, intelligent and more important things than to have to waste brain energy worrying over whether her business suit makes her butt look big or something shallow like that.

(1) These notes were taken from my textbook: Marriages & Families: Changes, Choices, and Constraints by Nijole V. Benokraitis, 7th ed, 2011,  p 116-117

Death by Wallpaper and Flooring: What am I going to do with my life?

What am I going to do with my life?

I hear that question in my own head almost hourly and out of someone else's mouth at least once a day.

Whether from a friend or a parent, a teacher or a classmate, even strangers. It is just the go-to question when anyone is talking to a Senior: "What are your plans after you graduate?"

Not like what are you doing tonight or this weekend. Not even what are you doing in a year but -

What are you doing with... YOUR LIFE. 

It can be panic inducing.

Especially if you don't have a precise answer.

But, I do have somewhat of an answer, at least by process of elimination:

I don't want death by wallpaper and flooring.

Let me explain :)

Thanks to my good friend Matthew who lent me his book, I have started reading Drops Like Stars by Rob Bell.

The book flows so well in a random but well-connected way and the visuals are absolutely fantastic. As a result, I won't be able to do his presentation of the material much justice but here's an excerpt:

In the movie Old School, Will Ferrel plays a married, thirty-something-year-old suburban man who finds himself at a college party.

When he's offered a drink, he declines, saying,

"I have a big day tomorrow." 

When he's asked, "Doing what?" he responds, "Well, um... actually, a pretty nice little Saturday. We're gonna go to Home Depot, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed Bath and Beyond... I don't know. I don't know if we'll have enough time..."

Why is is that everyone I know who's seen that movie remembers that scene? Obviously people remember it because it's funny. But there's far more going on in the scene that just going to Home Depot on a Saturday. 

 This man in this movie is bored. 

He has the life that is often portrayed as the ideal - a wife, a house, a job, security, comfort, privilege, freedom - and yet it's left him bored, numb, and in a low-grade state of despair. His "success" has actually served to distract him from just how deeply unsatisfied he is with his life.

I assume none of us want to starve or be shot at or lose someone we love, but it's possible to die a sort of death at the other end of the spectrum as well, isn't it?

If we aren't careful, our success and security and abundance can lead to a certain sort of boredom, a numbing predictability, a paralyzing indifference that comes from being too comfortable.

 Death by wallpaper and flooring (p 39).

Yes, so for now, that at least is my answer to this ever-present and pressuring question: "What am I going to do with this life?"

I am going to LIVE, live in such a way that I won't suffer death by wallpaper and flooring.

I hope you're able to do the same.

One Entire Day without Rape

What I would like to do is to scream: and in that scream I would have the screams of the raped, and the sobs of the battered; and even worse, in the center of that scream I would have the deafening sound of women's silence, that silence into which we are born because we are women and in which most of us die.

And if there would be a plea or a question or a human address in that scream, it would be this: why are you so slow? Why are you so slow to understand the simplest things; not the complicated ideological things. You understand those. The simple things. The cliches. Simply that women are human to precisely the degree and quality that you are.

And also: that we do not have time. We women. We don't have forever. Some of us don't have another week or another day to take time for you to discuss whatever it is that will enable you to go out into those streets and do something. We are very close to death. All women are. And we are very close to rape and we are very close to beating. And we are inside a system of humiliation from which there is no escape for us. We use statistics not to try to quantify the injuries, but to convince the world that those injuries even exist. Those statistics are not abstractions. It is easy to say, "Ah, the statistics, somebody writes them up one way and somebody writes them up another way." That's true. But I hear about the rapes one by one by one by one by one, which is also how they happen. Those statistics are not abstract to me. Every three minutes a woman is being raped. Every eighteen seconds a woman is being beaten. There is nothing abstract about it. It is happening right now as I am speaking.

                                               - Andrea Dworkin, quoted again at the end of this post

I recently feared rape myself. Not in the every day underlying fear but in a specific situation. And at that moment, I had another boxing match between the Southern Belle in me and the Feminist. Generally, both of those points of view blend beautifully but this past weekend, they each took a corner in the boxing ring, ready to battle it out.

I was planning to study with a male classmate for an upcoming test. We had established in class as well as via text message days before that we were going to meet in the library.

Less than an hour before we were to meet, he sent me a text asking if I'd rather meet him in a different building because "it was quiet and there was no one around."

Guys, I'm sure you would not even hesitate, oblivious to any reason for concern. Girls, the wheels of "What if" are probably already turning in your mind. Here's what mine sounded like:

Feminist: that seems odd... why the last minute change? The library is just across the street.

Southern Belle: oh, no need to make a mountain out of a molehill.

So, the Southern Belle in me texted back saying, "Sure, where should I meet you?"

He responded with "On the second floor, down a long hall."

The Feminist in me was like: "last minute location change + no one around + long, isolated hall = rape waiting to happen"

The Southern Belle's rebuttal was "Oh, don't be silly. I mean he seems nice right? I'm sure he wouldn't do that."

"Ha," the Feminist responds, "famous last words. I'm sure that is what every girl thinks right before she is raped."

The Southern Belle in me begins to agree, recalling my previous post on rape where I found that 83% of rapists are known to their victims and their attackers often include classmates.

Ultimately, however, the NERD in me won.

I needed to study so after allowing the Feminist to text a few friends a heads up on the situation and allowing the Southern Belle to send up a quick prayer, I met my study buddy down the long, dark hall and saw not a single other soul while I was in there.

Was this a dumb move? I like to think of myself as a pretty smart girl usually but this scenario left me perplexed and unsure if I was making a smart decision.

Was the Feminist in me over-reacting? I thought no since this is literally the kind of thing I have read about for the last 4 years of college!

I am happy to report that not a thing happened. As the Southern Belle assumed, this guy was totally nice and not a threat at all.

But, what if I had been wrong? Back to that previous blog post of mine, EVERY 7 MINUTES a woman is raped in America.

Guys, if you're still reading, do you understand why girls have this internal mental boxing match over something as simple as a study buddy session?

We. Are. Not. Over-Reacting.

Rape is a real threat.

Though I have not been raped, I have several friends who have been. I've heard their stories and their tears.

But it could be you or your sister or your mother or your girlfriend or your daughter or your grandmother.

Any. Woman.

1 in 4 women will be raped. 

But it can be stopped.

Andrea Dworkin gave a speech in which she simply asked for a


Twenty-Four-Hour Truce During Which There Is No Rape. 

That was back in 1983.

She gave this gutsy speech to an audience full of men. I relate to so much of it and suggest you read the whole thing but here are some excerpts I really appreciate: 

As a feminist, I carry the rape of all the women I've talked to over the past ten years personally with me. As a woman, I carry my own rape with me. Do you remember pictures that you've seen of European cities during the plague, when there were wheelbarrows that would go along and people would just pick up corpses and throw them in? Well, that is what it is like knowing about rape. Piles and piles and piles of bodies that have whole lives and human names and human faces.

I speak for many feminists, not only myself, when I tell you that I am tired of what I know and sad beyond any words I have about what has already been done to women up to this point, now, up to 2:24 p.m. on this day, here in this place.

And I want one day of respite, one day off, one day in which no new bodies are piled up, one day in which no new agony is added to the old, and I am asking you to give it to me. And how could I ask you for less--it is so little. And how could you offer me less: it is so little. Even in wars, there are days of truce. Go and organize a truce. Stop your side for one day. I want a twenty-four-hour truce during which there is no rape.

And, 

men come to me or to other feminists and say: "What you're saying about men isn't true. It isn't true of me. I don't feel that way. I'm opposed to all of this."

And I say: don't tell me. Tell the pornographers. Tell the pimps. Tell the warmakers. Tell the rape apologists and the rape celebrationists and the pro-rape ideologues. Tell the novelists who think that rape is wonderful. Tell Larry Flynt. Tell Hugh Hefner. There's no point in telling me. I'm only a woman. There's nothing I can do about it. These men presume to speak for you. They are in the public arena saying that they represent you. If they don't, then you had better let them know...

It's not enough to find some traveling feminist on the road and go up to her and say: "Gee, I hate it."

Say it to your friends who are doing it. And there are streets out there on which you can say these things loud and dear, so as to affect the actual institutions that maintain these abuses. You don't like pornography? I wish I could believe it's true. I will believe it when I see you on the streets. I will believe it when I see an organized political opposition. I will believe it when pimps go out of business because there are no more male consumers.

And, I leave you with this: 

I dare you to try it. I demand that you try it. I don't mind begging you to try it. What else could you possibly be here to do? What else could this movement possibly mean? What else could matter so much?

And on that day, that day of truce, that day when not one woman is raped, we will begin the real practice of equality, because we can't begin it before that day. Before that day it means nothing because it is nothing: it is not real; it is not true. But on that day it becomes real. And then, instead of rape we will for the first time in our lives--both men and women--begin to experience freedom... For myself, I want to experience just one day of real freedom before I die. I leave you here to do that for me and for the women whom you say you love.