Because I Have to Hate: True Love

I think that Miracle Max in The Princess Bride said it best when, in doubting the words "true love" that came from Westley's mostly dead mouth, he replied: "But that's not what he said. He distinctly said 'to blave.' And, as we all know, 'to blave' means to bluff."

And isn't that all that the promise of love turns out to be? A big, fat, giant bluff... like being Punk'd by society at large, by the myriad of movies that promise the fairy tale, and most often by the significant other who convinced us to believe the lie of love only to dismantle it in the end. It just seems so insane that otherwise capable, intelligent, interesting people make the mistake over and over to believe in the notion that love conquers all in the face of mounting evidence that it, in fact, does not.

You can call me jaded, bitter, and lonely. But I like to believe that bitterness is the result of reality. People are not born bitter, just as troubled teens don't just fall out of the sky. Life experiences that teach you that it is definitely a bad idea to trust anyone close to you largely contribute to the life outlook of jaded thirty-something women AND adolescent rage. It is hard to not begin to settle on the conclusion that love is a lie. Indeed, most of us spend our entire lives so focused on chasing the lie that we have been sold (by movies, by Hallmark, by the online dating industry) that we begin to ignore our own interests, stop developing ourselves, and become one-note harpies about either our desire for a "true love" relationship or how we can't believe that the relationship that is ending didn't end up being "the one."

Indeed, the true love/soul mate market needs a strong dose of my jaded/bitter/lonely thirty-something reality. There is no true love. There is no "the one." There might be many "ones" that all fulfill your love needs for a few years. There might be one "one" that you grow bored with, or worse, grow to resent. But unless your definition of love is flexible and unless you know that the grass is not greener in another relationship and unless you stop defining yourself or your happiness by your relationship status and unless you have the strength to shirk the messages that we have been receiving since we were three about what fairy-tale "true love" is supposed to look like, it is inevitable that you will be unhappy in whatever stage of love you happen to be in.

The brilliant part about The Princess Bride is that the book, unlike the movie, ends with author William Goldman hinting at how the happy ending - Fezzik, Buttercup, Westley, and Inigo all riding four white horses into the sunset - is only temporary. He briefly mentions a few of the things that begin to go wrong after the departure from Humperdink's castle. And I guess that is what I am beginning to look for in affairs of the heart... the things that go wrong, the lies, and the realization that, in the words of Westley, "life is pain." And I'll take that over the false promise of true love any day.

Because I Have to Hate: Stripper Chic Culture

This post is not about strippers. I know women that work in the sex industry. They have my complete respect. I have listened to and understand how their circumstances and life experiences have contributed to their choice - albeit a forced choice - to work as strippers or in adult film. I use the term 'forced choice' to indicate that a choice can only TRULY be a choice if opportunities for a different path choice are present. Think of it this way: a bank manager who was laid off from work and now "chooses" to take a job working part-time at Home Depot just to bring in some money. This is not a TRUE choice, but a forced choice. This person would not choose this path if his financial needs did not dictate that he had to do so. The same applies to many people (not all, but many) who work in the sex industry. If women could make the same amount of money and garner the same accolades for their work in traditional jobs as they do at a strip club, I guarantee you that this would not be their true choice for work.

Well, I think I could have guaranteed that prior to the "stripper chic" culture that has taken hold in recent years. So, this is what we are all aspiring to be now, huh? I guess just randomly hooking up with guys with no strings attached has stopped being satisfactory enough. I guess lifting up our shirts for the camera or for random men is boring now. I guess being faux lesbians on the dance floor just isn't intriguing anymore. Nope. Now we need to ascend yet another rung on the ladder of self-exploitation in deafening clammor for male attention. Or rather, ascend the stripper pole.

Here is (loosely) what happens in our culture for many women who start seeing other women getting male attention for a previously unacceptable behavior: we go crazy. We become desperate out of this weird mix of jealousy and fear. This is what drives women to contemplate bringing another woman into bed with her husband to fulfull his fantasy. This is why women are flocking to stripping workout classes. This is why women make out with other girls at clubs. This is why women are buying stripper poles for their bedrooms. I could go on and on about the less obvious ramifications of the stripper chic culture (plastic surgery, obsessing over weight loss, etc.) but for the purpose of this rant, I am limiting it to direct male attention seeking behavior that only serves to benefit male fantasy or garner immediate attention for the woman.

Unfortunately, many of these behaviors are placed under this weird umbrella of "liberation" for women. Really? Liberating? Liberation could only be argued if we removed the aspect of male attention from the equation. Liberation is finding the freedom of sexual expression for your own pleasure and ONLY your pleasure. There will always be, on some level, a sense of being shackled to your own need for male attention if any of these behaviors are done in hopes of gaining acceptance or feeling desired by a member of the opposite sex. If you engage in a behavior that you would not otherwise engage in and brings you no direct pleasure, this is not liberation. It is participation in your own exploitation... you're just trying to convince yourself otherwise.

Oh! And don't forget that we need to make sure that our daughters and sons know just how these new "liberated" women are supposed to act and be seen! By all means, buy a stripper pole and bring it into your house! Make sure that you encourage your daughters to think of boys as something to be competed over - even amongst each other! Be sure to laugh about the fact that your son is a "player." And be sure to encourage them to emulate what they see and hear on TV and in music.

This is a great example to help you inspire your daughters:

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3c1fm_keeping-up-with-the-kardashians-gir_shortfilms

Or this!

http://www.lilmynx.com/

And, of course, Miley Cyrus' latest "stripper chic" moment dancing on the ice cream cart complete with stripper pole... her slide down the pole appropriately coinciding with the song's lyrics Get to the club in my taxi cab/Everybody's lookin' at me now. (As one blogger put it, "I'd rather young girls be fans of Death Metal, than listen to the teen queen." I agree.) It seems that in our current culture, everything is all about getting as much attention as you can possibly get - especially sexual attention and especially at the cost of your sense of self.

Why, I can think of nothing more appropriate than to have our children get an early start on learning how to make sure that male attention is to be attained at all costs and that boys can expect to give nothing in return for this kind of attention-seeking behavior. Oh, except for those $1 bills. They'll need a lot of those.