Open letter to Taylor Swift

Dear Taylor,

I think you're adorable. Your cute and blond and fairly wholesome looking. Furthermore, I really love your "Romeo and Juliet" song. I downloaded it, and I'm not even ashamed to admit it publicly. I unabashedly sing it in the car. I even play it despite the eye rolls it receives from my wonderful fiancee. It's super catchy.

That said, you are not a country western singer. You might try to argue that you're genre-bending. But we both know that would be disingenuous. A synthesized fiddle for 10 seconds on a track does not a Hank Williams song make. Lucinda Williams, Patty Griffin, hell, even Reba McIntire, these women are country western singers. You, dear heart, are a pop singer. And it's totally cool. There's no shame in that game. Embrace it. But let's just be who we are, and not put on airs. Cool? Cool.

Love and kisses,
Andrea

Vacay

Oh beach. You get sand in everything, but your horizon is beautiful. See you in 12 hours.

Love,
A

Let's see...this weekend sucked exhibit A, B, and C:

a. I get asked if I am pregnant at a baby shower. I'm not.

b. Paid credit card bill. Mounting debt seems insurmountable. Cry sheepishly to self.

c. I get a response from a story submission, which basically says we liked the story, but decided not to publish it. I am both uplifted that someone thought it was good and bummed that it wasn't good enough to publish.

Let's hope this week gets somewhat better.

Indecision

(This?)

I seem to vacillate between wanting a very traditional, quiet suburban-raise-your-kids, have dinner at home kind of life and a batten-down-the-hatches, single, crazy, drink mint jullips in the afternoon, sleep with my students, writer-ly kind of life.

I don't know why these two things seem mutally exclusive, but they do. Kind of like being a Southerner or a Yankee.

Then again, I've always tended to think in binaries, despite my academic posturing.

(Or this?)

Captain Negativo

So it's been a while.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to invite everyone into my negative space for just a moment.

When a former rival sends you pictures of her/his children on some social networking site, are you ever tempted to comment, "Huh. Wonder if she/he will end up being as big of an a-hole as you were."

Or is that just me having a terrible week?

Politically Incorrect Fantasy

So, I've been wondering...does it make me a bad feminist if I occasionally daydream about quitting school to pursue the privileged life of the housewife? I do not say homemaker because that implies work; it suggests raising kids, educating and feeding them as well as cleaning kitchens and doing laundry and worrying about keeping a family sane, healthy and together. That sounds exhausting!

Nope. I fantasize about nannies and maids and Chanel suits and ladies who lunch and watching Dr. Phil at 3pm and working out daily so I have abs like an 18 year old and sipping martinis by the pool and the occasional charity ball and summer homes and skiing in Switzerland and Abercrombie and Kent African safaris and reading for pleasure and massages and expensive haircuts and furniture that didn't belong to my grandmother and dog walkers and apartments in New York and Birken bags and lots and lots of diamond jewelry.

Actually, I'm fairly sure this occasional daydream does not negate my good feminist standing. I am sure of this because I share this fantasy with my high school boyfriend Jimmy, who swore he would marry me, send me to law school, then live off my earnings. He often verbalized his intention to become a "country club wife," playing golf all day and lounging by the club pool. Ironically, though he is now married and I am engaged, neither of us are anywhere near nor on our way to becoming country club wives. He is a bit closer than I am, being the manager of a country club.

I, on the other hand, am not a member of any country club, nor plan on applying to become a member. In fact, the only club I belong to is the Graduate Women's Association. And, actually, I'm more than okay with that.

La la la

I'm wasting time to take a break from writing about gender and Joyce. La la la...here, enjoy a cartoon!