Red on the head...

“Hey, Red!”

And the man delivering this line always thinks he has said something very clever, perhaps something I have never heard before. “Are you a natural redhead?” With a pointed look at my crotch. “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

Which is the line most guaranteed to deny the speaker of the privilege of EVER getting anywhere near the carpet.

When I was a kid, I often heard this crude chant from other children: “Red on the head like the dick on a dog!”

Charming, huh.

And thus I knew from an early age that there was something unique about the color of my hair. Strangers would often ask me, “Where did you get your red hair?” Even at the age of four I remember thinking, “Duh! Same place you got your hair! It just grew there.”

Today I share with you some interesting folklore about redheads.

“Redheads are deemed to be the emotional slaves of our colouring as no other group," writes redhead Nicola Tyrer in the Daily Telegraph; “short temper and sexual fieriness are attributed to them.”

Percentages of redheads in different countries range from single digits to a fraction of 1 percent -- a recent estimate for France is 0.03 percent of people. (A 1977 estimate for North America is 4 per cent.) Redheads generally are more numerous in northern latitudes, but also turn up among Hungarians, Egyptians, Israelis and certain Nigerian tribes.
"In Denmark it is an honour to have a redheaded child. In Corsica, if you pass one in the street you spit and turn around. In Poland, if you pass three redheads you'll win the state lottery," claims Sylvia Stevez, the Parisian founder of Association Francaise des Rousses.

There are two kinds of redhead, says Mary Spillane, managing director of British image consultants Colour Me Beautiful. There's "the autumn type with hazel eyes," and the Celtic type with translucent skin, light eyes and carrot top -- leprechaun redness that people have trouble with."
Redheads have always been thought untrustworthy. As a 17th-century Frenchman observed, "Judas, it is said, was red-haired."
Superstitions: red hair is unlucky, yet it's lucky to rub your hand on a redhead's head; bees sting redheads more readily. The Egyptians regarded the colour as so unlucky that they had a ceremony in which they burned red-headed maidens alive to wipe out the tint, says author Claudie De Lys.

In ancient Ireland if a traveler were to happen upon a woman with red hair he must turn around and start his journey all over again.
Redheads bring bad luck to a ship, don't sail with one on board.
Redheads seem to be relatively recent in evolutionary terms, only being with us for about 20,000 years, but in that short time a a whole body of superstition has built up around them. Natural redheads are a rare breed, perhaps 5% of the global population, and historically have always been treated with prejudice and suspicion, or with amazement and awe. Fiery tresses are widely supposed to be a 'Celtic gene' as all redheads are MC1R variants that derive from European populations, and the prevalence of these alleles is highest in Celtic countries .But none of this tells us anything of the superstitions, or why we believe that redheads are fiery and hot-tempered. One answer lies in Ireland. Macha, the red war-goddess makes a vengeful appearance in the second story of Ulster, in a terrible story of humilation. This Macha placed the curse upon the men of Ulaid, for their mistreatment of her during her pregnancy. The curse was that during Ulster's hours of greatest need, the men of Ulster would suffer violent pangs like those of a woman giving birth. But Macha Mong Ruad, who also railled against the men of Ireland, was a great Queen in ancient times..... Today, the silent grasses cover the mound of Emania Macha, a little north-west of Armagh, but this ancient hill fortress played a vital and vibrant role in the fortunes and history of Ulster and indeed in the making of Ireland herself. Emain Macha was Conchobar's capital - the seat of power in Ulaid (Ulster). The dun was founded by Queen Macha the Red-Haired, the first reliably documented ruler in Irish History. Her father, Aod Ruad (Red Hugh) was one of a triumvirate with his brothers Dithorba and Cimbaoth. They had an arrangement that each would reign for seven years in turn. Stories tell of three times seven guarantees to ensure that each king handed over sovereignty at the end of his seven years - guarentees to ensure the righteousness of each king's reign so that there would be an abundance of fruit every year, that every colour of dye would be fast and that no women would die in childbirth. These guarantees were - seven druids, to scorch them with spells - seven poets, to shame them with satires - and seven champions, to wound and burn them if they didn't fulfil their obligations. Each took three turns as king, sixty-three years in all. Áed Ruad drowned before he finished his term of office and although Macha should have ruled her father's incompleted term, her two uncles opposed her. Macha led an army to war, where she killed Dithorba in battle. (Dithorba's five sons had fled to Connacht, where they plotted to overthrown Macha but she captured them in a fascinating manner.) Then with equal skill and mastery she turned her attention towards her uncle Cimbaoth, first defeating and then compelling him to formally marry her. Macha founded the city of Emain Macha, and legend tells that she marked the boundary of her hill-fortress with her brooch and forced Dithorba's sons into building the dun as slaves. Cimbaeth became the high king of Ireland, and ruled in Tara for 27 years with Macha until his death, leaving Macha in sole power. Emania Macha, her legacy, later became renowned as the fortress of the Red Branch. Was it this Macha, understandably angered with her male relatives, who inspired the myth of the fiery- tempered redhead ?

Red is the color of heat, of wine, of fever, of blood. Red is the signal of danger. It is both a welcome and a warning, and even the most civilized man feels a curiously atavistic quickening of the senses at the sight of a red-haired woman. Never mind that she may be a notorious mouse. He knows that, deep inside, she is a quivering mass of passion and fireworks -- a thrower of paperweights when displeased.

"There are more redheaded girls around than there used to be, say, six months ago. One sees them glowing like torches, raking their rosy manes with permissive fingers, basking, with a healthily narcissistic delight, in the way people look at them. Most to the point, in the way men look at them." ... Vogue, April 15, 1969

"Even plain redheads get looked at quite a lot. A really good-looking one comes through every door like a thunderclap." ... Vogue, op. cit.

"The eyes are often a smoky brown. Or the color of the ocean, from slate to marble, depending on the light and mood. The blue-eyed white-skinned redheads are like walking flags. The green-eyed redheads shake you to your soul; you are helpless in their grip. No wonder they have so often been seen as gods or demons. Or aliens, mutants, wizards or threats." ... Red Alert! By Joel Garreau, The Washington Post Company

"Of course, part of the 'problem' with redheads is that there aren't enough of them. They make up just two percent of the population. So they're pretty extraordinary. Redheads are too numerous to be ignored, too rare to be accepted." ...Grant McCracken, from his book Big Hair: A Journey Into the Transformation of Self

"While the rest of the species is descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats." -- Mark Twain

"Red-heads, in general, need more general anesthesia than the average patient in order to reach a satisfactory level of relief from the pain associated with surgery,” doctors say. I’ve also been told that redheads bleed more.

"That... drew me particularly to the flamboyant qualities of redheads. Their hair and the exotic flourish of their skin in sunlight were even redder and more visible in that blue surround. They also shared with me their sense of personal victory at having overcome this early celebrity, how... they had grown into their specialness and, by surviving, had been ennobled by it. You could say that they had been baptized by their fire and that their shared experience had formed a 'blood knot' among them." ...Joel Meyerowitz, author and photographer of Redheads. This book has a pretty good gallery of portraits, except, of course, for the fact that he has never taken my photo to include in it. Tsk.



So, parents, warn your non-red children.... tell your sons that tease little redheaded girls how badly they are going to want to date those same girls in about ten years, and how much fun the girls are going to have laughing in dude's face. And let those blonde and brunette little girls in on how difficult it will be when their boss turns out to be... you guessed it... a redhead with many, many axes to grind.

Men, Women & Marriage

I’ve been reading a lot of women’s books lately. What else is new, right? Not all of them have a feminist theme, though any book by and about women will resonate with feminist ideology, except perhaps a conservative manual written by a moral, Godly woman on how to be a good Christian wife. I don’t read those.

Lately I’ve been reading essays and journals by and about women in America. I had no idea how little I understood my own gender and our frustrated role in these changing times. We are at a crossroads, you see, for family values crusaders are preaching the gospel of the traditional nuclear family with domestic wife/mother and primary breadwinner father (the majority of families being dual-income these days, Mr. Man’s career should still be more important) and 2.3 children in the suburbs, with a Golden Retriever. This is what America needs to get “back” to if we want to solve the distressing problems we are faced with. We must work to duplicate the family dynamics of days gone by if we are to be saved.

I put “back” in quotation marks because conservatives (and most everybody) believe that in the 1950’s, the family described above was the norm. You’ve seen the old TV shows, you know the stereotype. Good wholesome families. According to Stephanie Coontz in her book The Way We Never Were, it is a myth. She also explains how good old-fashioned traditional non-divorced families will not solve America’s problems and she gives lots of excellent evidence to back up her claim.

At any rate, we are not going back, it’s not even remotely realistic to think that America might go back to a system where divorces are shameful, adversarial and hard to get, mothers quit their jobs and stay home while their children are young and gay people will stop trying to live normal happy family lives like the rest of us. Our new family structure is here to stay, and the problems women face today are caused by the state of flux that we’re in. We’re sitting here astraddle the new millennium, with one foot in the past and one shaky foot in the future, trying to meet demands and our own desires from both sides.

We want career. We think we want marriage and family. Or perhaps, it’s the other way around, depending on which day we’re asked.

The essays I’ve been reading, by women my age, all bear one striking similarity that surprised me. All these women mentioned the ideas held during childhood and adolescence about marriage and how those ideas changed when they ran smack into adulthood. It won’t surprise you, probably, that girls think about it. Obsess about it.

Perhaps it surprised me because I did not. I didn’t play with dolls. I didn’t play “House” unless I was forced to by a playmate who was “prissier” than I. I don’t remember ever thinking about weddings or whom I’d marry. I just didn’t. I was thinking about horses a lot. And reading a lot of books. At puberty, I was into teen magazines and boys, but I don’t recall thinking I’d marry one. I gave little thought to career either, for that matter. In high school I was into modeling and partying.

In my senior year I had my first serious boyfriend and the most important thing on my mind was getting out of Mama’s house and out on my own. The quickest route to that goal was to move in with my boyfriend. And my friends began to get engaged and plan their weddings. I admired their rings and their bridesmaid dresses and still gave little thought to a wedding of my own.

And then my boyfriend’s parents found out we were living together and they were mortified. Set a date, they said, or they’d stop paying the bills and his college tuition. And honestly, it seems that was the first time I contemplated the idea of getting married.

I must have been somewhat keen on the idea. I mean, after all, I did it. Beautiful wedding, and I got to be the star. But never did I feel the trembling excitement I sense in other women when they think about nuptials. Of course, had I then the wisdom I possess now, not a chance I would have married, at least not then. If nothing else, I wish I’d realized at the time we were setting a dangerous precedent in allowing his parents to use money to manipulate private matters that were none of their business.

When I edit children’s books, especially those for girls, I’m hypersensitive to the way “happily ever after” is presented. I think (hope) we’re past an age when marrying the Prince represents the best ever outcome every girl should dream of. I like it when the girl runs off with some pirates or joins a circus instead. I like it when she says, “Stand back, I got it,” instead of being rescued.

I came across an interesting statistic today: the largest population suffering from depression are unmarried men, with married women a close second. Isn’t that funny? Being single depresses men while being married has the same effect on women. Can’t say I’m surprised.

According to Bastard on the Couch (which, contrary to the first paragraph above, is a collection of essays by and about men), it’s now men more than women who feel a sense of panic when they have not married and produced children by the time they’re middle-aged. In my experience, I find this to be true. For one thing, fewer women have waited that long. Most middle aged women have already been there, done that. But those who have not married by the time they’re 40, I think they’re less freaked out by it than women were 20 years ago in the same situation. They may express a twinge of regret, but they’re proud of their careers and their independence. They like their lives.

Meanwhile, the middle-aged, never-married men I’ve met do seem rather…shocked to find themselves still single and childless at that age. Shocked and not really sure what to do about it. I mean, what can you do to change a lifetime habit of avoiding the kind of meaningful, intense relationship that leads to marriage?

Sometimes men are thought to avoid marriage because they want the rockstar lifestyle they think they could have "someday" if they get buff enough or successful enough--dating multiple beautiful nymphomaniacs, having threesomes, being sexually adored and worshipped by a whole herd of gorgeous ladies in sexy lingerie. And then, it's also thought that they can't stand the idea of being tied down, restricted, noosed, put on a leash, confined to one piece of ass for the rest of their lives. Not to mention that they value their freedom and independence, reluctant to trade the luxury of coming and going as they please, leaving a half-empty cereal bowl on the coffee table until it has long since turned gross, and playing video games or watching sports for 48 straight hours, for the dubious pleasure of considering someone else's needs, checking in and asking permission to go out, and hearing someone bitch-bitch-bitch at them almost daily.

Rod and I talked about this at length last night, he being one of those middle-aged never-married-no-kids who seems a little confused as to why he never got himself a ball and chain. I think an unmarried man in his late 20's or early-mid 30's is likely to have the reservations described above about marriage, but as he matures his views on marriage change. He begins to realize he's not going to get the rockstar lifestyle, or even if he does get a taste of it, he discovers it's fun for a while but not fulfilling, and he sees his married friends or siblings and perhaps envies them the companionship they enjoy. Maybe he realizes that cleaning up after himself or limiting his mindless recreational activities to just a few reasonable hours on the weekend is really a good idea after all and it might be nice to have someone around to remind him. Maybe checking in with someone or asking permission to go out is not so terrible if the reason is because they love you, care about where you are and when you'll be home, and miss you when you're gone. I think somewhere about the age of 33 a man starts to think the benefits of marriage might make it worth the restriction.

So then what happens? Well some men then get married, of course. But what about the ones who've changed their minds about marriage and gradually decided yeah, they'd like to do that but then they go ahead and stay single for another decade and a half? Why them? That's a little more difficult for me to understand, and Rod could only say that he kept waiting for the "right one" and she never seemed to come along.

Come on, in fifteen years, surely he's met at least one woman who could be the right one. My god, how perfect does a woman have to be to qualify for the coveted (thankless) role as his wife? I think in this case, a man sometimes gets caught in a cycle of meeting her, loving her, considering her, maybe coming close to choosing her, but then getting freaked out by the thought of being "stuck" with her three years from now when the more perfect one comes along.

I dunno. When you choose a life partner at the age of 20, sure, you're probably not choosing someone you'll enjoy being stuck with. But by the time you're 40, you're not likely to choose someone you'll regret sharing your life with. You just have to grab your balls and jump, man. Don't be scared.

Secrets of Western Sex Magick

For the first third of this book I had a hard time relating to the text. For example, I'm really uncomfortable with the assertion that I must break down the barriers of my own sexual inhibitions before I can truly become enlightened and powerful as a sex magician. What this means is that if there is some sexual act that I would not perform, such as necrophilia, then that is the very act I must perform or at least be open to in order to achieve Nirvana.

Well excuse me, but maybe I was not meant to be a sex magician if my assignment is to do the shit that makes me most uncomfortable and learn to like it. I mean, sure, having sex with dead people technically doesn't harm anybody, so why should it be wrong? Okay, maybe it's not wrong, but it's still gross and I'm not doing it.

So, having resolved my necrophilia issues, and with inhibitions and barriers firmly in place, I carried on, cringing a little at the ultra-serious tone. This is sex, for gods sake, it's supposed to be fun!

Fortunately, the section on using mantras to delay orgasm made me smile (if you can picture yourself or your partner determinedly muttering Om, Hram, Hrim, Hrum, Om, Mani Padme Hum to avoid blowing a nut, you'll understand why). The ice was further broken when I encountered instructions complete with delightful little drawings on how to wear a loin cloth. Now that I was laughing out loud, I figured the best way to get along with this book was to avoid taking it too seriously.

The text touches on a variety of sexual and magical topics but without covering any in great detail. Each chapter is rather short, so easy to skip over or rush through the parts that give you the heebies. The exercises are designed to be done alone or with a partner of either sex, and they are quite tempting to try.

Though the author takes the subject matter much more seriously than I was able to do, he does have a sense of humour. In spite of being initially creeped out, I was won over with this line: "No man with real experience of women, uncolored by his own inferiority feelings, will deny the immense active sexual power of women."

I'm not merkin this up!

Dutch told me something very interesting the other day. In India, he said, marriages are still arranged and women are still expected to be virgins, though more and more women are having premarital sex. So a surgical process, revirgination, is commonly done to allow women their sexual freedom yet still enabling them to fulfill their culture's patriarchal expectation.

I find the idea quite fascinating, so I googled it. Turns out, it's a hot trend here in the US as well.

"Since many women have already lost their virginity, they are turning to a new form of plastic surgery to get it back. Information on hymen repair, vaginal tightening, designer vagina and other plastic surgery."

Designer vagina?

"Not being a virgin does not come as a surprise anymore these days. Many women lose their virginities at an early age, more so in this modern world of ours. Virginity is, in some corners of society, still considered a precious possession. Wouldn't it be nice if women could somehow reclaim what they have lost?"
Well this is an interesting idea. When a woman loses her virginity, what has she lost and why would she seek to get it back? Of course, this surgery addresses what she has physically lost, her hymen, along with that super-special tight-as-a-virgin pussy men desire. When the hymen is gone, it's not likely the woman ever misses it. Seems to me, this surgery is designed to replace what the man has lost, not the woman. "Like a virgin...When Jeanette Yarborough decided to give her husband a gift for their seventeenth wedding anniversary she wanted it to be special. Really special. She gave him something much more personal and painful. Her virginity. Well, sort of Mrs Yarborough paid $5,000 to a cosmetic surgeon to stitch her hymen back together so she could lose her virginity all over again and her husband would have that thrilling conquest at the grand age of 40."
I see. So yes, the women who seek this (expensive) surgical alteration of their bodies in this country do so in order to give something to a man, not to get something for themselves. Okay, I'm all about giving something to my man, but seriously. Five thousand dollars for a painful operation that will give him a one-time thrilling conquest? He pops that cherry in ten seconds, and then I'm back to being an unexciting nonvirgin again. "Gee, thanks honey! That was money well spent." I dont think so.
Here's something else that hooked my brain today. This one came from my friend Emily. She's so cool. Ever heard of a merkin? Its a pubic hair wig.

Seriously, yeah.

A wig for a womans hoo-hah. I had to google that and see whats up. Turns out, merkins were quite fashionable in the 1600's. They used to shave off all the pubic hair as a cure for syphillis, so the well-to-do used merkins to restore their natural hirsute nether regions to full glory. Another source said they treated syphilis with mercury, which caused baldness. Also, a merkin would cover up any sores prostitutes may have obtained in the line of duty.

Another common problem was lice. One way of dealing with that was to shave all the hair off your body. Merkins caught on first among the shadier members of society, but eventually became quite respectable.

Fascinating, huh? I want to see one. I'm left with the nagging question: who's a merkin supposed to fool? By the time you get to the level of intimacy where somebody is going to see whether you have pubic hair or not, your range of observation, as we might say, is such that a wig is not going to make for a very convincing masquerade. Turns out, the Internet provides an answer, whatever the question: During the time period when merkins were popular, the degree of intimacy among the upper class was low even during sex.

I shudder to think what that means. Apparently, you had your valet do it for you.

Why Are Men the Way They Are? The world may never know...

Rarely have I read anything that annoys me as much as Why Men Are The Way They Are by Warren Farrell. The problem is not that I disagreed with so many of his ideas. My frustration was that he provided just enough insight to make me want to keep reading instead of throwing the book in the garbage where it belongs.

Published twenty years ago, I understand that Farrell’s unflattering generalizations about women may be a reflection of the way things were and not how they are. But I still find it difficult to believe that women were so drastically different in 1986 than I know them to be today.

The answer to the question posed in the title, according to Dr. Farrell, is: men are the way they are because women are selfish, lazy gold-diggers who manipulate men sexually to achieve financial security.

By studying cartoons and advertisements in popular magazines, Farrel concludes that a woman’s primary fantasy is commitment because she wants financial security and success provided to her by a man instead of achieving it for herself. Huh? I am and have always been more successful in my own right than either of my husbands. Speaking for myself, financial security is not and has never been my primary fantasy. I don’t need or want a man to provide financial security. Few of my female friends express an interest in getting married so they can stop working.

A man’s primary fantasy is to have a variety of beautiful women to have sex with. He achieves success to acquire his primary fantasy. Women are taught to hint at sexual fulfillment, give a taste, generate excitement and anticipation, then pull back in order to achieve their primary fantasy: commitment.

Commitment, being the intended result and goal for women, by its very nature requires men to give up their primary fantasy: having sex with lots of beautiful women. No wonder men duck and dodge! It also explains my observation that men have a harder time being faithful than women do.

Farrell suggests that women should be equally responsible for initiating contact, calling, making plans, and picking up the dinner tab. He rightly points out that most men will refuse to allow her to pay for dinner, so he suggests that the woman should say “If you don’t let me pay, I’ll remain celibate.” So. Not only should a woman buy him dinner, but she should expect to have sex with him and she should use the promise of having sex with him to manipulate him into letting her buy him dinner.

By suggesting that women should assume more responsibility in dating and relationships (it being unfair that men alone assume the risk of rejection and the expectation that he’ll be the financial provider, women should be approaching men, calling, asking them out, paying for dinners and vacations, even providing financial support after marriage) Farrell misses some very important Mars/Venus dynamics at play. Men are fulfilled when they feel useful. They enjoy being needed. Women are fulfilled when they are cared for. When a woman approaches a man, asks him out, and pays for dinner, neither of them achieves maximum fulfillment from the dynamic. I want a man to buy me dinner, not because I can’t afford it or I’m too cheap to spend my money on him, but because I feel valued when he does things for me. He feels valued when I appreciate what he does for me. He is useful and needed, I am cared for. If I buy him dinner, he doesn’t feel valued as I would, he feels that he’s missed an opportunity to show me how valuable and useful he is. It ruins the dynamic of an early relationship.

As I read, I kept wondering what experiences led this man to have such contempt for women.

And then he went too far, suggesting that domestic violence and abuse in relationships occur equally with women as perpetrators and men as victims. Statistics showing otherwise can be dismissed because they reflect only reported incidents of violence. Male victims do not report it. Oh my, hang on just a minute. Having studied this issue quite thoroughly and with an intense personal perspective on it, I am amazed that the man presents such a load of crap with a straight face. I won’t belabor the point too much, but let’s examine the idea a little bit.

Certainly some women have violent emotional outbursts where they may slap or shove a man. I have never heard of a situation in which a woman choked a man, beat him, raped him, knocked him unconscious or broke his bones. I doubt that it happens very often because most men have the physical strength to prevent her from causing serious injury. When a woman is violent toward a man, she is not attempting to control or intimidate him. She knows that she doesn’t have the physical size or strength to do this. When a woman strikes a man, she is saying “You bastard, you have hurt me and made me so angry that I want to hurt you.” For control and intimidation, she will use other weapons: she will be a passive-aggressive bitch.

For men, however, physical violence is a means to control and intimidate her, and it works. When a man hits a woman, he is not saying “You hurt me and so I want to hurt you.” He’s saying “I want to hurt you so that you will---(listen, stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing, be afraid of me, make me happy, whatever).” Control, in other words. Clearly, men’s violence against women is not the same thing as women’s violence against men. Not only is it done for different purposes, but the two genders have unequal physical abilities to injure the other or to protect themselves from the other. Men’s violence is clearly more threatening. If, as Farrell indicates, male victims are just as common as female victims but less known because men hide it rather than report it, what does it say about the injuries inflicted by female violence against men? Pretty easy to hide, I would imagine. A slapped face, a shove, a clawmark on the arm. Compare that to the injuries you have seen on women inflicted by men. A lot more severe and difficult to hide, huh? How can this man suggest that women’s violence against men is just as common as the reverse or that women’s violence is anything like the same as men’s violence?

Finally, the point at which my head actually exploded was this:

For men the gap between desire and fulfillment creates a pressure cooker. And the man’s role of taking initiaves and receiving rejection puts an aggressive anger (as opposed to her passive anger) in his pressure cooker. If there is no outlet, the ultimate explosion can be violence, one form of which can be rape.

Do I read this correctly to say that rape is a natural and expected result of men’s frustrated desires (caused by women’s conscious prick-teasing manipulations)? He does not go so far as to say that rape is an acceptable expression of a man's frustration when a his pressure cooker gets heated up, but nor does he suggest in any way that it’s not acceptable! The implication is that women are responsible for ensuring their safety by being mindful of a man’s inability to handle rejection.

While I came away from this read with a bit more understanding of why men are the way they are, more questions arose in my mind about why the author is the way he is.

If I Had a Penis

If I had a penis I'd pamper it proper

I'd stay in the tub and use me as a stopper

If I had a penis I’d stick it to bitches

I’d use it to turn on and off the light switches

I'd take it to pet shows and teach it to stay

I'd stuff it in turkeys on thanksgiving day

If I had a penis, oh what a sight!

I’d tie ribbons round it and kiss it good-night

I'd peek around corners

I'd aim at my toilet

I'd poke it at foreigners

And soap it and oil it

I’d draw faces on it, my hands would indulge

Pants would seem tighter because of my bulge

A penis to plunder, a penis to push

Cause one in the hand is worth one in the bush

A penis to love me, a penis to share...

To pick up and play with when nobody's there

I'd sit like a guy, I'd straddle the chair

I'd play with my fly, albeit with care
I'd dip it in chocolate, I'd stick it in sockets

I’d buy all my pants with big roomy pockets

If I had a penis, I'd climb every mountain

I'd give it a name, I'd pee like a fountain...

If I had a penis I'd still be a girl,

But I'd make much more money and conquer the world.

(adapted from "Penis Envy" by Uncle Bonsai)

On Being a Traveler, Neither Misled Nor Lonely

“The traveller's-eye view of men and women is not satisfying. A man might spend his life in trains and restaurants and know nothing of humanity at the end. To know, one must be an actor as well as a spectator.” ~Aldous Huxley

You can't really tell, but the picture above is of a female airline pilot. You can see, not only is she a woman, she's young. You can also see, I found her so awesome and cool, I had to take her picture. Meeting her reminded me of this "Candid Camera" episode with Fannie Flagg posing as a female airline pilot, which always makes me laugh.

Having spent a fair amount of time recently humping my way through airports with my belongings bouncing along on wheels behind me, I reflect upon The Traveler as an archetype. As I sit here in the airport of the City of Brotherly Love, blogging on my Iphone, I observe the Travelers around me. Perhaps they observe me too.

What sort of Traveler do they see? Am I the disgruntled lady bustling along with a scowl on my face? Am I the dreamy neophyte, wandering around with an expression of wonder and awe? Am I the businessperson, shuffling spreadsheets, laptop and cell phone as my work day carries on in spite of my travel schedule?

I suppose I am, at times, each of these.

My favorite Travelers are the old couples, the ones who have been on a few dozen trips together in their lives, so many that they've got the rhythm down, they carry each other along in a fascinating display of affection, appreciation and annoyance. Traveling with the one you love is quite an exercise in ambivalence. You want to shove him out of the plane one minute, but then you also want to sneak off into the lavatory when the flight attendant's not looking and get your official entry into the Mile High Club. And then you also really appreciate having him there to hold your purse while you go potty.

So I'm sitting here watching people, and many pirates go unnoticed by me as I find myself noticing women instead. I saw a woman in New York who was so beautiful I couldn't stop watching her. What do you imagine when I say that? I don't know how to say "beautiful woman" without causing you to imagine...something this woman was not. In Dallas, you can't swing a dead cat on a string without knocking over four or five beautiful women. They are everywhere you look. Their beauty is in their features, their perfectly kept bodies and faces and fingers and toes, lips and tits and hair. All of it as flawless as it can be. This woman, I don't know, she had an aura, something really unique about her. The term "glamour" was once a word used by witches to describe a spell that they would cast upon themselves to bring about this sort of effect--a glow, an aura, something that captures the eye and pleases without being predictably pleasing or flawless. This woman wore a glamour about her, though she was not young and perky, nor was she stylishly dressed. She was in her mid-40's I guess, dressed in cute jeans and a blouse, comfortable sandals. She had golden hair, not blonde, not red. Her face was aged in a fascinating way. Simply gorgeous.

I sat near her and listened as she chatted with her husband (Bob--he was beautiful too), then called her daughter and conveyed a request from Bob to the daughter to "shock" the swimming pool with chemicals and to mail some letters he had left on the bureau downstairs.

When traveling, you tend to hear others' cell phone conversations quite easily, whether you want to or not. For instance, right now a woman is about five feet to my right in front of me discussing loudly the various methods, stages and advantages of inducing labor. To my left, another woman is talking about a client of hers who learned during past-life regression that she drowned in a past life and that's why she has lung problems in this life.

The express flight I was just on was piloted by a woman. She too was a remarkable lady with a fascinating aura. I was not the only passenger who noticed the gender of our pilot. A business traveller seated nearby rolled his eyes and made a clever comment about her landing, but I was quite proud of her and her bumpy landing. Right on, girl, you dribble us down the runway like a basketball and you'll still be the coolest chick on the plane cause you're the one flying it!