Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


I begin to wonder...

...if maybe sometimes I am that humorless activist who takes things too seriously.

Someone e-mailed me that infamous "real 1950s Good Housekeeping article," filled with such gems as
his topics of conversation are more important than yours

catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal

you have no right to question him

...basically the kind of stuff that vaporizes any hair that's too close to the steam boiling out of my ears.

I don't find it funny. I find it really fucking sad, because there are a lot of people in the world still living by those sorts of beliefs. It's not an adorable anachronism when so much of it is still held true by so many people.

There are times when I see why people want to laugh at this kind of thing. Laughing sometimes makes it easier not to just cry at the state of injustice in the world. But it's not funny to me. Not even fucking close.

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