Flatulence Floozies

So I was sitting in bed with Jack the other night, having a beer, when the phone wrang.

No big deal. I got up to get it and OHMYGOD I farted. Now, this is no big deal to me. I know I fart. But, after six fucking years, and endless sleep-flatulence, Jack still thinks it’s inappropriate for me to fart in front of him.

no farting

Photo Credit: Bill Bates / Flickr (CC BY-ND 2.0)

Guess what, guys? Women fart. And women, you should stop holding in your farts!

By now you all should have already heard that holding in farts can be bad for your health. I won’t get into specifics, but some doctors believe it, some don’t, but either way it’s damn uncomfortable to do so.

You know what can happen when you hold in your farts? Your shoulder can hurt. I haven’t looked into why this happens, but I had a doctor once tell my friend, who was recovering from a c-section, that the pain in her shoulder was from gasses and she needed to walk around and fart to get them out. And I know from experience that my shoulder hurts all the time when I hold in my farts.

So, am I going to put myself through pain to make you more comfortable? No.

On average, the normal person farts 14 times a day. That’s at least 14 farts you men expect us women to hold in. And then guess what? Even if we do hold them in, they don’t go anywhere. They come out in our sleep. So it’s going to happen no matter what.

Honestly, I’m sick of this. I’m sick of this patriarchal bullshit that says women can’t fart. Do you know how uncomfortable holding in a fart can be? I refuse to be part of this no-women-farting movement. I’ve decided to make my own movement.

Let’s all become Flatulent Floozies! Flatulence Floozies can fart where they want, when they want, and admit to it whenever the hell they want, because why the fuck not?

[here are more facts on farts]

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Real Girls

I was at Five Below yesterday and bought myself a shirt that reads “I’m So Fancy, you don’t even know” which is hilarious and perfect because the only way for me to ever be fancy would be if no one in the world knew about it because I’m so not fancy in the slightest. And for $5, whereas in other stores it would be $20, it was a steal and I love it so I’m happy.

But then I saw another shirt that read “Real Girls Play In The Mud” or maybe it was real Women play in the Dirt, or maybe it was something about trucks. Honestly I don’t remember but it doesn’t really matter if it was girls or women or mud or dirt or trucks or bikes, because there are so many freakin’ shirts like that out there and the the point is always the same — real females can hang with the guys.

real girls kick balls

I went back to find the shirt, turns out it had nothing to do with dirt, but you get the point.

First, can we please stop classifying things as “for males” or “for females”? I know boys who like dresses and makeup and girls who like dirtbiking and headbanging and neither makes either of them more or less male or female, women or men, girls or boys. It just makes them human.

Now, the important thing to notice about this shirt is that it tells girls that being “one of the boys” is cool, but being “one of the girls” is not. Real women are one of the boys. They like mud and dirt and trucks and bikes and balls — not makeup and ponies and dresses and dolls. And this is so, so wrong.

I Googled images of “real girls play” before I went back to Five Below to find the shirt, and I was appalled with what I found. Photos of shirts and stickers and all sorts of shit that said stuff like “Some Girls Play With Dolls, Real Girls Go Fishing“. So you’re telling me that any girl who plays with dolls is not a real girl? This is the message we want to send our youth?

This is absurd. We’re all about empowering women to do whatever they want. You know, so long as what they want isn’t considered “girly”. Because real women don’t do girly things. Come on.

I don’t play with dolls or wear makeup or do my hair. I also don’t kick balls or hunt or fish. So does that make me a real woman or not? Of course I’m a real fucking woman. I have a vagina and I know in my heart that I’m a woman. But it’s shit like this that makes me identify as Androgynous, because it seems I can’t fit in no matter what I do.

We’re all just trying to survive. The message we should be sending our girls is not that they must fit in with the boys to be real women, but that they should be themselves because they already are real women. No matter what they do, or like, or want.

What Women Really Want

I recently read this post from Paul Thomas Bell. Now, I follow him and appreciate his blog so this is all in good fun, but I just couldn’t miss an opportunity to write these posts.

[This is number three in the three-part response series. If you missed it, read part one — I Guess I’m Not a Woman — and part two — What Stereotypical Men Stereotypically Want.]

In What Women Want (In My Experience), Paul lists the things he believes women want. They’re normal stereotypical things, like babies and money. So I’m here to tell you all what women really want, non-stereotypically.

*  *  *  *  *

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I Guess I’m Not a Woman

I recently read this post from Paul Thomas Bell. Now, I follow him and appreciate his blog so this is all in good fun, but I just couldn’t miss an opportunity like this to shatter the female stereotype.

Paul has deduced that he knows the answer all men seek — What Women Want. Therefore I must not be a woman because, while the first phrase of some of the things on his list may apply to me, the descriptions sure as hell don’t.

*  *  *  *  *

Babies. You’re right, I do want babies. However, I don’t want any more until I’m much older and much more stable. One surprise was enough, thank you. So no, I will not be forcing anyone to put a baby in me before they’re ready. I know what it’s like to not be ready.

I also don’t want babies nearly as much as my boyfriend does, and I’ve come across more women who want nothing to do with slobber and poop and “why?” and almost setting the house on fire every second of their lives than I’ve met women who want that stuff. Rock on, non-baby-makers.

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Pressured to Perform, or Make Excuses

By now I’m sure you’ve all heard of the sex spreadsheet a husband made documenting his attempts at lovemaking and his wife’s responses (usually shutdowns) that went viral. (Pish-posh to the things that ‘go viral’ nowadays, amirite?)

Sex? ...or sex not. A spreadsheet

At first I saw it while scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed. I didn’t click on the article, but I read the ‘excuses’ from the thumbnail and had a little laugh. Then I realized hey, I say those things a lot. (Well, said because there’s currently no hanky-panky going on in this house.)

And I thought those reasons aren’t excuses, they’re real-life true reasons for not being in the mood to be fondled and have your junk all exposed and pawed at.

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