Evil Slutopia

Recently, my friends over at Evil Slutopia offered to let me write a few pieces on art history and women and bad girls in art history, which in my time of need is like letting Winnie the Pooh eat up all your honey. And guess what? Someone liked my bit about Artemisia Gentileschi!

Evil Slutopia bills itself as being run by the Evil Slut Clique: Jezebel and Lilith, who like to drink lots of beer and have lots of sex, but in reality, they're so much more than that. While the world defines the word, "feminist," they set out to educate the masses who stubbornly believe a feminist is a bra-burning lesbian with short hair and a mean attitude toward men. In reality, while a feminist MAY be a bra-burning lesbian with short hair and a mean attitude toward men, that particular feminist comprises such a small portion of the entire demographic makeup; a feminist can be a man, for example, or a Roman Catholic, or a straight female with breast implants, or a gay man, or a celibate individual...the common link is that they all believe that a woman has the right to pursue equality in the workplace, in the running of the government, and at home. They believe a woman has the right to choose how to label her own sexuality or gender, how to arrange her reproductive future, how to plan her career, whether or not to raise children - and HOW to raise the children - and more than that...they believe that a human being has the right to run his/her own life as he/she wants.

A feminist is really a pro-human.

And Evil Slutopia is about bringing awareness to all things pro-human. If they have lots of sex and drink lots of beer along the way, more power to them!

Happy first anniversary, my love

An hour ago, a year ago, a lifetime and a country's span ago, I married the love of my life and took his name because it was cooler than mine.

Because I love him so much, I want to share a story that illustrates the beautiful symbiosis of our life together.

In my Mr. Coffee, I brew ten cups of coffee with six heaping scoops of coffee grounds.

Sometimes, before I can get my first cup, Sir fills his coffee pot with about 12 large, heaping scoops of coffee, and using my coffee as water, brews himself a quadruple-strength cup of coffee. And when that doesn't get the job done, he pours it into his camp stove percolator with some more grounds, sets the heat on the stove to low, and cooks the coffee for three days until it becomes congealed, oily tar.

Pouring it into a cup, he sips, and declares it, "good."

Sir, you have enriched my life, given me wonderful things to write about, and made me feel like a queen.

I just got back from a run on a sweltering San Diego morning

"Even if you can't get the stickers, just go get a temp base pass to do laundry."

"I have a temporary base pass. I can do laundry for free?"

"Just don't get caught."

"What'll happen to me if I do?"

"You'll get thrown into jail and get hate-fucked."

"It wouldn't be a hate-fuck."

"Huh?"

"Have you seen me lately?"

"I don't get it."

"I'm implying that I'm too hot for it to be a hate-fuck."

"As in, you're too attractive?"

"Uh, I have to explain this?"