Emancipation Proclamation

What does it take for a woman to consider herself or be considered as sexually emancipated?

I don't mean a slut, don't get me wrong. A sexually emancipated woman has a different swagger than a slut. A sexually-free woman knows exactly who she's doing, why she's doing, and what she's doing. She makes no secret about her appetite and does not fool herself into confusing sex for affection and love.

Why can't a woman enjoy no-strings attached sex as much as her male counterpart? That's right. She can. And she should. Sex should be equal opportunity, after all.

A woman crosses the line from sexually emancipated to slut when she loses sight of what she's doing. If she becomes a sperm bank and doesn't know any of the donors, she has a problem. If not. If she's careful, leave her be. Who's to say anything about a woman who takes charge of her sexuality and her libido? It's not 1620. It's 2009. We can do what we want. Everyone is entitled to their own prerogative.

No one deserves to receive judgment from another and no one has the right to judge another. I'd say only god can judge me, but as an atheist, no one can judge me or anyone else. People who whisper and roll their eyes, secretly shame others in their head. You do what you want and I do what I want. No judgment necessary. That's emancipation.

Father's Day

In honor of Father's Day, here's a little something that's been peeving me for quite some time. That's putting it lightly.

Has anyone else seen these ads on the subway - the ones that encourage young, basically deadbeat fathers to stay involved in the life they created instead of just being a sperm donor?

If you haven't, you can see them here. And then proceed to blow your brains out. Or the brains of the nearest male of reproducing age. Or at least seriously contemplate eugenics.

This is fucking ridiculous. Are you for serious, New York City?

Even though I could be wrong about this, I'm pretty sure I'm lacking the maternal instinct. As in any of it. But if someone put me in charge of a baby or a toddler, I don't need to be told that I need to listen to the kid's needs and spend time with it. What's next? Hey, asshole, don't forget to feed the baby.

Are people really this lobotomized? Men really need to be told that they can't just bust a nut and bounce? Women, though, too are retarded, but that's a different story.

Doesn't this nullify the concept of Father's Day? We might as well call it be Sperm Donor Day. Or, Thanks for Fucking Me Without a Condom Day. Or, Surprise! It's Yours! Day. Hallmark can have a blast with this. Papyrus also, if you're feeling classy.

The fact that so many people who shouldn't procreate, do, is very upsetting. Children, like other things, should be a privilege, not a right. Just because you have the capacity to reproduce doesnt' mean you should take advantage of it. Especially if you need to be told to listen to your child and you know, be a semi-decent role model.

To all of the fathers who aren't a sack of shit or a sack of sperm and who don't need a subway ad to give you pointers on fatherhood - to all of them who care about their children and perform little, seemingly insignificant gestures (like my dad, love you) - Happy Father's Day. You are the ones who deserve to be recognized.

Come Closer

How much can be learned about person in fleeting moments? Is it possible to learn someone's insecurities or fears by holding their hands? Or take notice of a stranger's personality trait by a single seemingly inconsequential action?

I don't have the answers to these questions, only experiences which made me wonder. By enjoying sitting in the front of the bus, does that mean I have control issues? The driver that one night seemed to think so. I found particularly uncalled for. It's hardly a control issue. If I asked to drive the bus, then, maybe he'd have some ground. Even though I never saw him again, his one senseless comment made me think. I don't play musical chairs on express buses because I like the adrenaline of stopping short and guessing just how close I can come to the windshield. I play musical chairs to get to the front because I get nervous I'll miss my stop (Stranger things have happened). Why do I even feel the need to justify myself? Can't sitting in front be my prerogative without some sort of underlying psychological condition driving it?

It is my prerogative. I don't have control issues. (I bet a bunch of you will beg to differ.) What's next? I like sitting near the window because I'm a closet escapist? (I so am.)

Sometimes I wonder how transparent I really am. I try to be opaque as possible, primarily among people I'm not entirely familiar with. I never really wear my heart on my sleeve and divulge secrets to as few people as my sanity will allow. That, though, depends on the magnitude of how reckless and stupid of an act I've committed, which, as of late, has been increasing.

Maybe it can be psychosomatic in a way; a self-fulfilling prophecy. The momentary description of myself that I received recently by someone who is not a stranger but not a close friend baffled me. I was literally speechless for a second and for once thanked the loud music for drowning out whatever quip I gargled out.

Just because someone says something unsettling doesn't make it true. Or does it become truth with extra analyzing? Will I eventually believe it if I consider it long enough?

I hope not. Not just for this wayward comment, but for any rogue statement. I should believe myself, no one else. Unfortunately, though, I don't think it always works that way.