The F-word

The F-word makes people cringe. Its use is taboo in polite conversation, and definitely don't say it in front of your conservative parents. Drop this F-bomb into a friendly discussion and suddenly the atmosphere changes.

Get the fuck over yourselves, people. We're adults here.

The word I'm talking about is feminism.

If you're truly honest with yourselves, you probably think the following: that I am a militant man-hater with bad hair and offensive BO; that I don't shave my legs and that I can't take a joke; and that this blog is going to be an endless liberal tirade against the tyranny of men.

In other words, ignore me. Don't take me seriously. I bitch and moan about this stuff all the time. 

It's sad that the idea of feminism has been so perverted. Instead of empowering women, the word has been chewed up and spit out as another way to put us down, a way to marginalize and belittle.

So here's the real scoop: I was raised by loving parents to be a polite but confident and intelligent woman -- in other words, no daddy issues here. I have a very nice boyfriend. I have a college education, a job, but no cooking skills. I have spent years and too much money agonizing over my hair, which does actually have the potential to be pretty bad. I love to read and do it often, but if there's an episode of The Real Housewives of Wherever on TV, I'll watch it ("She did NOT just throw wine in her face!"). I love wearing and playing with make-up.

And I am a feminist. A Miss Piggy feminist, if you will.

So yeah, I like pink and dressing up, but mess with moi or my frog and I will kick your ass.

Welcome to my blog. I'm glad you're here.