I can’t grind this down to one event. Not anymore. Too much of it seems to mix and stick together, I can’t even be sure I have the ages right. When I was very young my parents were kicked out of their apartment and we went to live with my dad’s parents. We still live there today. She was loud and crude; and she laughed at me in ways that seemed both cruel and comical. And I’m the only one who gets to see this side of her, still. We fight and snarl and curse, circling, looking for weakness. She takes her petty jabs at me, and I don’t have the common sense to keep my mouth shut. All the while knowing, and so angry, that she has the last word. This woman can kick me out.

Six? It started out innocuous. She told me I wasn’t pretty, that I never would be, and if I wasn’t smart I wouldn’t go anywhere. That was a hurtful thing for a six year old. I remember crying, yelling at her and stomping away from the table. Always at the table she’d start. Just one comment on top of a hundred before.  Before I’d go out the door she’d say something, about my hair or my clothes. Sometimes she’d say something when we were out, and I’d get this hunted, miserable feeling, without anywhere to hide. And I’d walk around all day, trying to hide, not to be noticed, because I’d already heard once what someone thought of me.

I remember smiling, but not smiling; smirking? Leering? My eyes would slit and my lips would widen and I’d just look at her, and later at anyone, and I’d tell her just exactly what I thought of her. That got me yelled at a few times. But I never, ever felt guilty. Children only have so many ways they can fight back. I was a vindictive little bitch.

Eight, nine maybe. She hit me, just once. Just that one time. I wanted to hit her back so, so badly. I’d done something, said something cruel again, and she’d had enough. But I couldn’t hit her, she was supporting us, she could kick me out (she threatened it enough), so I cursed at her, in a low, angry voice, my little hands fisted and I hated her at that moment. I walked away from her because it was all I could do. I got yelled at later.

Twelve, I think. We’d gone to my cousins wedding. I was quiet and fearful and I sat in a corner hiding behind my dad. “She” was across the room, talking to the throng, as always loved. None of them had to live with her. I remember a boy coming up to me, god, at least three years older. I was afraid of boys then, but he asked me to dance. I’d never danced before, didn’t know how. My hands were sweaty and I was nervous in my cheap cotton dress; lavender with flowers, picked out by my dad. I knew someone had asked him to ask me. He was so persistent to get me out on the dance floor. Probably my cousin; love on the brain, she hated to see anyone alone. It was fun. I never knew his name. It was a good feeling, for once for someone to pay attention to me. I was grateful to that boy, no matter what reason he did it. A few weeks later we got pictures in the mail, and I wanted to know who the boy was; there were pictures of everyone who’d been there, and I kept asking. For a while my grandmother ignored me, before finally she yelled, she told me it wasn’t about me, that it was my cousins wedding, that I should be quiet. As though I made a point to make things about me. That hurt more I think, to someone who went out of their way to never be noticed. I went quiet.

Seven; definitely. I remember I went into her jewelry box. I didn’t want anything expensive; it wasn’t about that, and I didn’t want anything that would hurt her too much to lose. I wanted to prove I could do it, that I could do something to get back at her without someone telling me no, without anyone telling me to sit quietly Dammit, and take what she gives you. I took one earring. It was probably once very pretty, but now it was broken. There wasn’t a matching one in sight. I took it. A week later I took a pin, and the week after that a broken necklace. Eventually she noticed and asked me if I was taking things from her. I was good at lying. But I wasn’t a thief; and I hate being dishonest. I started leaving things in her room; under the bed, below the dresser, as though she’d lost them instead. It didn’t make me feel much better to know even if I hated her, I wasn’t so bad a person that I could do it without feeling guilty.

When nanny hit 65 she was diagnosed with diabetes. Too many extra snacks at night she told us. By 75 she’d had most of both feel cut off. All her toes and about half of each foot. She walks with special shoes and a cane. She’s easily tired now, but still thoughtlessly cruel. She forgets things, and she’s nearly childlike in her selfish demanding. Kind’ve ironic she once accused me of the same. She can walk now, but not for long since she refuses to do so even for the shortest of steps. She goes out to socialize; and everyone still loves her, they all think she’s a dear sweet woman.

I am 20 years old I’m a little cynical and I’m not at all a nice person. But I am a good person; I’m honest, and I don’t hesitate to let people know what I think, but I don’t see the point in hurting other people needlessly. I resent my grandmother, I’m annoyed, exasperated, but I make sure and ask her each day if she’s had lunch, I drive her to her social do’s, and I make her coffee each morning. We still snipe, I refuse to eat her cooking and she still tells me I look like a refugee going out the door.

I think I’ve won though. Age has nearly defeated her. She still tells me I’m selfish when I try and make her get her own coffee, or when I refuse to help her try to impress people with her useless little domestic things. I recognize that I’ve purposefully hurt her at times, and I recognize that I’ve done wrong. I know I’m not perfect, but the thing is that she can’t say the same. She’s old and stuck in her ways; anyone who does anything different is wrong, and she still likes to strut around as though she’s mistress of her domain. She’s about a foot taller than me, and every day I get up to say hello to that old woman, not yet totally senile. I smile at her and get her coffee, I give her kisses when she asks for them.

I don’t know if I love this woman who’s been a large part of making me hate myself for most of my life. I pity her, because most of the problems she has now are of her own making, and even now she can’t recognize that. And I can’t say for sure if I’m grateful for her taking us in when we needed it. I don’t believe I owe her respect, not one single ounce; but I give it nonetheless, because I don’t see the point in upsetting this old woman, and I do care for her despite it all. Maybe because of it; If I wasn’t the cynical, insecure, dry bitch I am today, who would I be?

But I’m not going to say thank you.

Maybe you’ve heard about facebook’s new (COUGHCOUGH) debate; a young mother’s picture was deleted from her account by admin’s after being tagged as sexually explicit/adult content. There was a nurse-in and all sorts of various different protests that I don’t care to go into.

Now on one particular website I saw an interesting comment on how as a society we shouldn’t be afraid of showing women’s breasts. I think that’s a wonderful idea. As a society, in America in particular we’re pretty prudish when it comes to the publish sphere; we can find every single kink and fetish under sun behind closed doors, through no label packaging and anonymous billing but the television still can’t say the word cunt.

I rather like boobs, and I like the idea for our society to be okay with showing them. However a word of caution, and by no means do I intend disrespect; while I don’t have any problem with seeing your breasts or your brat sucking on them, I am not going to be watching you because it’s a beautiful and miraculous sight, and it is not going to fill me with wonder at the sight of a mother and child. Simply put, Nipples, on men and women, are sexual characteristics.

So please, feel free to leave the blanky off and coo at that sweet baby, however not everyone is going to be seeing that particular act as quite so…PG.

Christian Aguilera as shown on Ellen Degeneres following the birth of her son.

I don’t think Breast feeding is or should be the main issue though. We’ve seen it in the middle east where women are made to cover up so much many of them die because their doctors aren’t allowed to give them vaginal or breast exams. A more open society is by no means a bad thing. And I don’t think a few tit shots are going to traumatize anyone, least of all a kid if the reports are true and all the mommies really are going natural.

First lady Laura Bush speaking in the Middle East about Breast

Cancer awareness, Self diagnosis and genital-related taboos.

We’ve made sex and sex characteristics taboo in normal conversation outside the bedroom, and so we’ve seen a rise in what could nearly be described as counterculture; softcore porn on MTV. And besides the fact that these displays utterly lack taste, they really are killing our music industry.

So free your Nipples in the name of lunchtime, of OBGYN’s “practicing their love”, in the name of VH1, in the name of spring breakers everywhere. Or at the very least get the damn FCC wedged out from between then (they do need aired out every once in a while).

1. English required for Citizenship. If you want to live here, Please learn the language. The government as it is has to pay extra for services in every federal agency to accomodate non-english langauge learners. We pay extra so that translators are hired and extra froms are available in every lanaguage required. it's inconvenient and it doesn't make sense. I believe as a requirement for citizenship people should at the very least be given a course in basic dialogue; they don't have to be fluent but they should understand the words coming out of our mouths. Street signs, basic terminology on forms, how ask and understand simple directions. English is not a hard language, we even have less conjugations than most of the others.

2. Set a Cap on college costs. Yes, yes, free market blah blah blah. Most of what we pay for in college is the name of the college; the prestige. Most of these college board members make several thousand dollars a year more than other people and yet they turn out grads with BA degrees with limited chance of being hired. My English 102 class and my History of the US class WAS NOT WORTH 10,000 dollars-- and that's after my education grant for another 10. The government should not have to be sending out grants like it's going out of style; if most of the US can't afford to go to college that's TELLING YOU SOMETHING GODDAMNIT.

3. Mattew Shepard Act. 1998 Mattew Shepard was killed in Colorado because he was gay. He was tied to a fence, beaten, tortured and robbed and then left for dead. He was a sophomore in college. The Current US hate crimes law does not include sexual orientation as a basis of a hate crime because many view this as a breach of civil rights. In other words people believe that they are justified in committing crimes against LGBT persons because of their sexual orientation. In 2007 this law failed to pass. 

   

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