Living alone, living a lie. Here's an interesting little editorial from "Dear Prudence" writer (and Swells alum) Emily Yoffe that struck a chord with with me. You probably wouldn't think that I think much about this, or you might think that I'd agree with the flabergasted readers who decried Yoffe's suggestion of reconsidering parenthood. As a feminist and a WOSTie, perhaps I am stereotypically supposed to condemn motherhood as chaining women to the home. Perhaps I should revel in sexual liberation and professional satisfaction over spit-up and diaper rash. If you thought this about me, you'd be painfully wrong. The mere suggestion of parenthood wrankles my step-mother, sending her off on non-sensicle diatribes condemning anyone who would dare find a baby mildly attractive. Every time she does this--and it's more often than you might think--I get angry. Very angry. To me, motherhood is no longer compulsory. I do not feel that it is my obligation as a woman to reproduce. As much as I want professional satisfaction and intellectual stimulation, to me, life doesn't mean much if you don't have family to round it out. My boss put it best. She said that when she decided to have a child, and she did so relatively late in life, it was because she felt that life was "so juicy" that she wanted to share it with a new generation. Like me, she did not have a great family life growing up, but she said that she took great pleasure in watching her husband and daughter interact because she got to vicariously experience their relationship; she created the family she'd missed out on. Yoffe's editorial sums this up and illustrates why, many years from now, I hope to be a mother.

Got to keep it all inside. I've decided to add a new section--or type of drip, if I want to wax poetic like my overblown blog title indicates. Without further ado, I give you Today in Schadenfreude:

The school board in Canton, Ohio, has added contraception to their sex-ed programs--it had been abstinence only--when they realized that 13 percent of the female students at one high school were pregnant. [Source]

Way to go, Ohio. That fascist, Republican misogynyny is really working for you. To this, I give my standard schadenfreude derisive of Nelson's "Ha ha!"

Playing games with the faces. I just found out what happened to Tucker Carlson:

He's going to be on Dancing with the Stars 3!

I'm very amused... I guess we now know the punch line to the joke, "What happens to a loud-mouth, conservative twat after his career ends?"

Adding even more glee to the schadenfreude: His co-"star" is Jerry Springer! Excuse me while I break into a maniacal laugh.

Ain't that America. That's America for you. A war's going on, and us stuck-up, privileged Americans are shocked by the fucking head gear!

Without a song in my heart. On my way to work today, I was fortunate enough to witness a fantastic dog moment. A fire engine was heading down Varick with its siren blaring, and this big husky-eque mutt of a dog was standing on the corner with his owner. You could hear the siren before you saw the fire engine, and this dog started "singing" along to the siren, echoing the whining noise almost verbatim. He had the same pitch and rhythm. He let out this long, plaintive, rhythmic howl that was perfectly in harmony with the siren. As the siren got closer, the dog got louder until the engine drove in front of the dog and the dog's howl became a very loud bark. It was the funniest thing; I couldn't stop laughing!

Fear, my old friend, disappear. As many of you know, I am freaking out about the GRE. It isn't even funny how anxious I am about this test. To boost my spirits, I am posting my horoscope. I don't care if this post isn't entertaining; I need help!

In 1993, my American friend Mark started playing music on the streets of Copenhagen. His parents regarded it as a tragedy. "This is what you do with the fine education we bought you?" they mourned. "What a waste!" grumbled his siblings and college friends. Mark was hurt, but didn't shrink from his mission, eventually expanding his open-air performances to Ireland and Holland. Thirteen years later, Mark has accumulated so much wealth from his gig that he has been able to buy homes in Ireland and Hawaii. Though he still busks part-time, he spends nine months of the year writing books. He's your patron saint in the coming weeks, Sagittarius. May he inspire you to follow your dreams no matter how much that bothers the people who think they own you [Source].

If you have any, leave your words of encouragement below.

You may laugh 'cause you did not do your math. As many of you know, I am exceedingly adorable. For example, before one of our editors traveled to South Africa for a conference, I requested that she bring me back a baby elephant which I would name Peanut.

I have just received the following e-mail:

I couldn't take him with me for you; South African Airways has pretty strict rules for excess bagage. So here is the picture I took from little Peanut...

Yay! My very own baby elephant! I hope he has lots of playmates in South Africa. I don't want him to get lonely without me.

Let the handcuffs slip off your wrists. One of our journals was mentioned in this article from, Lord help me, USA Today. It consequently showed up on our company intranet under the headline "Being smart and 'hot' is not an easy task..." Apparently it's like so tough to like be a girl and be like smart and junk. I mean like I don't know about you, but like I always face the dilemma every day of like should I be like slutty or like smart and stuff? It is like so like hard!

My advice to the women who "suffer" from this "problem" is this: Go to a women's college. If it's too late for that, do some volunteer work, preferably at a battered women's shelter, because, Sister, you have too much fucking time on your hands.